Page 54 of Anyone But the Superstar
Before Ron can yell further, David slides an arm around her shoulders, corralling her back to the starting point. He whispers something in her ear that has her looking sharply at him. But then she nods, kicks off her sandals and turns on her mark to face me.
‘She’s got it now,’ David tells Ron.
Ron’s expression remains skeptical, but he motions the crew to be quiet.
And in the few seconds it takes for the crew to focus all their attention on Anne, and before Ron even yells ‘action’, something happens.
Anne rolls her shoulders back, lifts onto her toes as if wearing heels, and cocks her hip to the side. She appears taller, confident, and quite frankly, every inch the leading lady.
‘Action.’
It’s my turn to stiffen –everywhere– as Anne saunters, not walks, toward me, hips swaying, ponytail swinging, stopping a mere breath away.
She grabs the front of my shirt with both hands twisting into the fabric, tugging me closer until my chest presses against hers, until her breath caresses my lips.
‘Hey, cowboy.’ Her husky whisper echoes in the large space, the line spoken with a sultry sexiness that nearly makes me forget my reply.
‘Hey there, space cadet.’ My voice lower than it needs to be for filming.
But just when Ron is about to yell cut, to go over the stand-in spacing to ensure the camera angles are set for filming, Anne presses her lips to mine.
I should stop her. Tell her what she doesn’t seem to know. That blocking is just for going through the motions, not acting out the entire scene.
I don’t. Instead, I do just what romance novelist Audrey Cole thinks any hot-blooded cowboy would do with a spitfire astronaut in their arms – I kiss her back.
But it isn’t a Hollywood kiss, and this isn’t an astronaut in my arms. It’s Anne, the woman who didn’t hesitate to knee me in the nuts but took the time to ensure I’m not triggered by her brother’s ugly-ass cat. Anne, who can’t cook but who went out of her way to disguise me so I’d be safe selecting my own fresh produce. Anne, who could not be less impressed by my celebrity but who nearly imploded from embarrassment when she accidentally exposed herself my mother.
I wrap my arms around her, pulling her flush against me, her arms releasing their hold on my shirt to slide up into my hair.And when I lap my tongue against hers, her nails drag against my scalp.
Someone yells cut. Someone else whistles. Another person catcalls.
Neither one of us pulls back, our breath melding together along with our lips.
I’m not thinking about the crew, my public image, or how being so lost to reason will only stir the shitstorm surrounding my life. I’m thinking about Anne and how good she feels in my arms. How I never want to stop kissing her. Having her. Being with her.
In fact, I’m not sure we ever would’ve stopped kissing.
If it wasn’t for the blood-curdling scream.
15
FELIX
‘Jesus H Christ!’ Ron’s voice booms across the pool. ‘Get it off me!’
Anne and I jerk apart, her looking deliciously confused, me 100 per cent certain of what ‘it’ is.
And sure enough, when I’m able to focus beyond Anne’s lips, I catch sight of Mike, looking like an obese, hairless flying squirrel, attacking Ron’s backside.
Howhe attached himself to the back of a middle-aged man’s cargo shorts, I have no idea, but there he is, digging into Ron’s rear end with all the frantic pawing of a dog searching for a bone.
Anne’s hand encircles my forearm in a vice-like grip when she catches sight of the chaos. ‘Mike Hunt!’
If there was anything that would get more attention than a hairless cat attacking the ass of one of the foremost revered directors in all of Hollywood, it would be Mike’s full name screamed in a secured, government facility.
Especially as it’s shouted in a lull between Ron’s stunned curses.
Half the crew focuses on Anne.
