Page 1 of Dangerous Kiss
Chapter One
She reached out and touched his face as his steely grey eyes fixed on her. She felt him tense at her caress, but Lucy was glad he didn’t draw away. Her fingers moved lightly over the craggy planes of his face, across the crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes, tracing the fine lines of his cheekbones.
“You are beautiful,” she whispered, and a strange look came into his eyes.
“Dear one, you are so young,” his voice shook with emotion. “If you agree to this, know that I will strive to make you happy.” He took her hand and kissed the back of her fingers. “But I know that my age may prevent you from ever loving me the way I would wish to be loved.”
“I don’t see age,” Lucy said, her blue eyes serious, her tone fervent. “I see experience; I see adventure; I see so much I could learn from. Surely love—real love—is based on more than a number?”
He stared at her for a long moment, then nodded. “Then it is settled.”
“Yes,” Lucy said, drawing near to him, “It is settled. I am yours, Thornton. Yours.” And she pressed her lips gently to his…
“Cut. Okay, that’s good. Let’s move on.” Cosimo DeLuca’s voice was weary and the dark circles under his eyes obvious. Biba May shot the director a quick glance as she moved in to drape a robe around Stella’s shoulders, but Cosimo was lost in his notes already.
Stella, her blonde hair piled up under a 1920s Marcel Wave wig, glared at Biba. “I’mfreezing. Be a bit quicker next time.”
Biba said nothing. She’d learned a long time ago that rising to Stella’s bait was never a good idea. Instead, she would just fix her dark brown eyes on the actress, and Stella would smirk. Biba never understood why Stella kept requesting her to be her assistant on set but, despite her bitchiness, Stella paid very well and having the odd cell phone thrown at her head was worth it. Besides, the second time Stella had gotten physical, Biba picked up the vase Stella had just hurled at her—and had thrown it right back, missing deliberately by an inch or so. Stella had been shocked…and then had burst into peals of laughter. “Quid pro quo, Biba May.”
Biba knew Stella liked her feistiness and the fact that she, Stella, could go on a full-blown rant, and Biba would listen to it all and then tell her exactly what she thought, whether Stella liked it or not.
Which wasn’t to say Stella liked Biba or anyone else, for that matter. Stella Reckless was the world’s biggest movie star, a staggering beautiful blonde with curves to die for, a wide smile that could break into the most infectious laughter. Stella didn’t give a fuck what people thought of her, rarely did anything for charity unless she got something out of it, and surrounded herself with her ‘squad’—a flotilla of easily replaceable minor actresses and pretty boys who never said boo to her and instead kissed her ass to the press.
Except Biba. Biba wouldn’t take any of her crap. An army brat, Biba May was used to tough people: her African American father, a hulking giant at nearly seven feet, was an army general, and her Creole mother was a major in the I Corps at theJoint Base Lewis–McChord just outside Tacoma. Biba had every intention of following her mother into the military until it was discovered at age fifteen that she had a heart murmur. After a failed surgery, Biba had spent her lengthy recovery watching old movies and falling in love with them, and she decided to pursue work as an assistant on movie sets. There she found a world where she could observe the inner workings of film and movie magic. Her natural efficiency and organizational skills had easily found a home behind the camera.
Often though, she was asked why she herself didn’t want to act. Biba rolled her eyes, aware of why they asked her. She knew people considered her beautiful—her gorgeously clear caramel skin, large dark eyes, short cropped black hair and curvy, petite figure drew admirers constantly, but she insisted on resolutely downplaying her physical beauty.
“Hey.” Someone nudged her now, and she turned to see her friend—her best friend as it turned out—Reggie, grinning at her. “You were out of it. Did Madame Lash need her ass kissed?”
Biba chuckled. “If she did, she came to the wrong person.” She looked around. “They setting up the next scene?”
Reggie, who was the cowriter of the film, nodded at Cosimo DeLuca, who was still reading his notes and talking in a low voice to his director of photography. “You met him yet?”
Biba shook her head. “Not yet. He seems…sad. I didn’t want to intrude by introducing myself. I mean, what does he care about a personal assistant?”
Reggie half-smiled. “Actually, he’s one of the good ones. Cares about everyone. Too much, I think, sometimes.”
“You know him well?”
“Not well, but I’ve worked with him a few times these past two years. His wife died a couple of years ago.”
Biba looked at the director. “So that’s what it is.”
“What?”
“The sadness. How did she die?”
“She was sick, I think. Died young, too, she was only thirty-three. They had a kid, too. Nicco. He lives with his grandmother in Seattle. Doesn’t see his dad much.”
Biba shook her head. “That’s terrible. Poor guy.”
Reggie moved away, and Biba took a moment to study the director. He was devastatingly handsome, or he would be if he didn’t wear his grief across every cell of his body. His dark curls were in disarray, there were purple shadows under his bright green eyes, and his thick brows were knotted and brooding. Biba’s eyes dropped down to his mouth, his lips, and found the curve of them sensual and appealing.
She realized that she was staring just as Cosimo looked up and met her gaze. A jolt of adrenaline—and of desire—shot through her stomach, and she looked away, embarrassed. Luckily, Stella grabbed her at that moment, and she was kept too busy for the next hour to process why she had felt such a shift in her soul when DeLuca looked at her.
They were filming at Lakewood Manor, a gorgeous Tudor-type Gothic house just outside of Tacoma, Washington—Biba’s hometown. So, she asked herself later as she trudged to Stella’s trailer, why haven’t you been home, May? She had made excuses to herself over the three days they had been in Washington, such as: they had only been there three days, things were always hectic at the beginning of a shoot and… and… and…
The truth was…she didn’t want to go home only to be made to feel like a child again. Her mother had never been the warmest person, and Biba’s father, with his fragile male ego, had taken his insecurities out on Biba from a young age. He could barely talk to her as an adult, but if Biba dared to get annoyed by it, Travis May would get verbally aggressive.
