Page 93 of Reckless Hearts
“Excuse me.” She looks down her nose at me. “Are you supposed to be here?”
My jet-lagged brain struggles with a reply. “Um…I’m here for Marcus. Marcus Johnson.”
“Where’s your ID card?”
I just blink at her.
Her eyes narrow. Suddenly, she’s talking into her wristband.
“Security.”
Two burly security guards appear almost instantly.
“No. I’m not a stalker,” I say desperately, but of course, that is something a stalker would probably also say, so it’s not a surprise they don’t seem to believe me. “I’m his…friend.” I stumble on. “I mean, I’ve just flown here from New Zealand to see him.”
Shit. Maybe now I just sound like a stalker with air miles.
The woman gives me a doubtful glance. “You mean to tell me Mr. Johnson invited you onto the set?”
She says it with so much skepticism that I struggle to believe it myself.
“Yes, yes, he did.”
One of the security guards puts a hand on my arm.
The kerfuffle has started to gather the attention of people around us. I glance desperately over at Marcus and see his hair and makeup team surrounding him are now looking in our direction, their perfectly groomed eyebrows climbing toward their hairlines.
Then, suddenly, Marcus’s eyes lock onto mine. His face transforms. The stern nineteenth-century Icelander melts away and his whole face lights up.
Which, given my current travel-disheveled state and the fact I’m currently wrestling with security guards, is a testament either to his acting skills or his poor eyesight.
“Seb!” he says.
The security guard’s grip suddenly loosens, and everyone turns to look at Marcus, who is now striding over to me.
I can’t help grinning foolishly at him as he approaches.
He ignores the people watching with wide eyes, his attention only focused on me.
“Hey, you,” he says softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
“Hey,” is my stunningly original reply.
He pulls me into a hug. And, oh my god, it’s Marcus. Marcus pressed against me. The scent of him, the feel of him…it’s almost a sensory overload.
“I see you’ve taken up time travel as a hobby,” I say when we pull apart, eyeing his costume.
He laughs.
“I’ve still got to film one more scene before we wrap for the day. Do you want to watch some more or wait in my trailer?”
“I want to watch you,” I say immediately.
The woman and the security guard have melted away, and Erica suddenly reappears.
“Can you grab Seb a chair so he can watch the next scene?” Marcus asks her.
“Sure thing. Oh, and here’s your security pass, Seb. You’ll need to wear it around your neck.” Erica hands me a plastic ID card.
