After Neil sat back down, she greeted his assistants and a few of the other people she recognized as stage crew. Then the Urban Arts crowd had to say hello. Finally, after greeting nearly everyone, she moved to the empty chair.
“Here, let me.” The man sitting next to her spot stood to pull out her chair for her.
“Thank you.” She sat down then shifted to face the man as he retook his own seat. Her breath caught.
God, he was gorgeous.
Not pretty-boy-leading-actor gorgeous like the men she worked with, but rough-rugged-muscular-man gorgeous. His dark blond hair fell high on his forehead, giving a perfect view into his light blue eyes that twinkled in the low light of the room. She guessed he was her age—her real age of thirty-three, not the twenty-nine all her online bios stated. But then he smiled and the creases at the edges of his eyes suggested he might be older, or that he had spent a lot of time smiling. Either way, the laugh lines made him all the more handsome.
As if her eyes had a mind of their own, they travelled lower, past the well-groomed scruff that covered his face to the T-shirt that hugged his bulky chest and thick biceps. Even through his clothes, she could see how muscular he was. This guy was strong. The kind of guy who could pick her up and swing her over his shoulder with one easy movement. The kind of guy who either worked out religiously or had a job that kept him in the best of shape.
The kind of guy who’d probably be a little rough in the bedroom. Not too rough. Just rough enough.
Her core clenched at the thought.
A blush crawled up her face. Why was she thinking like that? Sure, she hadn’t had any in…she quickly did the math. Though she’d tried to hook up with Micah Preston, a costar in her last film, he’d turned her down, leaving her sexless on that six-week shoot. Before that, Collin had been on location in Italy. And before that, she’d been in Australia filming…
Damn. It had been over eight months. No wonder she felt horny.
“You’re trying to figure out what role I have in all this.” The man’s deep voice poured over her like a glass of Merlot, warming her head to toe.
“What? Oh, sorry. Yeah.” She fell into his statement, using it as an excuse for her staring. “Hmm…” She pretended to try to figure it out, still too stunned by his beauty to actually put together real thoughts.
“I’m not going to tell until you guess. If that’s what you’re waiting for.”
“No. Though it’s not fair that you know who I am and I have no idea who you are.”
Jesus, she was flirting. With a stranger.
Not a problem. She flirted with everyone. He didn’t know she actually felt what she promised in her seductive tone.
“Who says I know who you are?”
Her mouth opened but no words came out. She’d assumed he’d known who she was because, well, everyone knew who she was. And now she’d made an ass of herself.
He laughed. “I’m kidding. Even if I didn’t know who Heather Wainwright was, I’d guess you were the actress spokeswoman. You ooze celebrity.”
Was he making fun of her? She couldn’t tell. Except the way his mouth twisted up in a small smile suggested he was playing with her. No one ever played with her. They kowtowed and charmed and kissed her ass. His obvious indifference to the Hollywood rules made her tummy flutter. Were those butterflies in her stomach? How long had it been since she’d had butterflies for a guy?
Trying to ignore her squirmy insides, she played back. “And you ooze…” She scanned him again. What he oozed was sex. Pure, hard, all-male sex. But she was trying to guess his role in the 24-Hour Plays, not define what he did to her physically. Besides, she was sure he already knew.
“I ooze….what?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Nothing bad, I hope.”
“No. Good things.” Definitely good things. And she’d just said that out loud.
Though they’d maintained eye contact for most of the conversation, he caught her eye now with such intensity she had to look down, her face warm. “Let’s see…” She skimmed the faces around them, attempting recovery. “You’re sitting with Neil. So I might assume crew.”
Please, God, don’t let him be stage crew.
She couldn’t keep flirting with him if he was crew. Could. Not.
It wasn’t that she was stuck-up—no, that was exactly what it was. She was totally stuck-up. Not a quality she was necessarily proud of, but it had gotten her where she was today. For that reason alone, she embraced it.
But this man exuded something more superior than crew. She already had identified all the crew heads, so what on earth would he be in charge of? He certainly didn’t read as one of the Urban Arts reps. They all huddled together at one side of the table, a bunch of modern day hippies.
Maybe he represented the venue—the Broad Stage. He could be in charge of the coordinating volunteers.
But his well-sculpted body, his confident demeanor said differently. He didn’t sit at a desk. He had strength and power. He had to be with Patrick. There was no other answer. “You’re also sitting near Patrick’s team. And your jeans and T-shirt are designer. I’m going to have to say you’re a Montblanc Exec.”
“You peg me as an exec? Okay.” He chuckled. “But my ex-girlfriend picked the clothes out. So maybe that shouldn’t be a factor in your concluding thoughts.”
“
Ex
-girlfriend?” Shit, she was so obvious.
“Yes. Ex. I’m single.” He took a swig from his beer, mesmerizing her with the way his lips circled the bottle. “As are you, if I’m to believe what I read standing in line at the grocery store.”
“Very single.” She might as well have invited him to her bedroom. What the hell was she doing? She knew nothing about the man. Nothing beyond the fact that he was H-O-T hot.
As if reading her thoughts, he held out his hand. “Seth Rafferty.”
His name sounded familiar, but she couldn’t place it. She was horrible with names anyway. She gave up trying when his firm grasp closed around her fingers. His touch shot sparks of bliss up her arm and straight down to the warm spot between her thighs. “A pleasure to meet you.”
He held her hand longer than he needed, his rough thumb grazing back and forth against her soft skin. “Not to sound too cliché, but the pleasure is all mine.”
“Good, you’ve met Seth.”
Heather pulled her hand into her lap as Patrick took his seat on the other side of her, setting a glass of wine in front of her as he did. “I was afraid the waitress would take too long to get in here, so I just ordered at the bar.”
Heather barely heard Patrick’s explanation of his delay or how her wine had arrived. What she focused on was his first line, his acknowledgment that he was glad she’d become acquainted with the yummy specimen sitting next to her. That practically confirmed Seth was with Patrick’s team. Not a crewmember then. Thank the Lord.
“Yes, we just met.” She lowered her head, fearing her cheeks were coloring yet again.
If he noticed her blush, Patrick gave no indication. “Have you told her?” He directed his question to Seth.
“Uh, no.” Seth shifted in his chair. “I was leaving that for you.”
Heather’s brow furrowed, confused by the vague exchange between the men.
“Well then,” Patrick said, his eyes lighting up. “Heather, we’re doing something new this year. You know that all the plays performed in the event are written and put together in a twenty-four hour period. This year, instead of just using a projected graphic background, we are also adding set. Whatever pieces can be constructed in the same twenty-four hour period.”
Heather’s brow crease deepened. Set construction? How exactly would that work? Like one of those home improvement shows where a carpenter built items within a limited time? And even if that could work, who would be…
Oh God. No.
But before Patrick continued she knew. She knew and she wanted to die.
“Seth here is going to be building all the pieces for us. It’s very exciting, isn’t it?”
No, it wasn’t exciting. Seth wasn’t a member of Montblanc or Urban Arts. He wasn’t from the Broad Stage. He was a crewmember after all.
Heather Wainwright, Hollywood A-list actress, had been flirting shamelessly with a carpenter.
Chapter Two
Celebrities held no special interest for Seth Rafferty. They were simply people. People he worked with. Nothing exciting. Their shit stank just like everyone else’s. His job kept him in close proximity to them on a daily basis and, while that part of his occupation was what interested his friends and family the most, he’d become immune long ago.
Which was why he hadn’t been prepared for Heather Wainwright.
He first spotted her when she’d entered the private dining room. She’d stood alone, watching the group at the table, not knowing that she’d caught his gaze. She was pretty, yes. All right, she was goddamn beautiful. And sexy. Her legs were long and lean under her knee-length skirt and her breasts pressed nicely against her low sleeveless shirt. But she was a mega-star—those qualities were standard package.
Except there was something about her that Seth hadn’t expected—a vulnerability he’d rarely seen in other actresses. A bewilderment at her place in her world. A softness that he’d thought must be impossible to maintain in Hollywood.
She pulled it all in when she’d been called out. Seth watched her out of the corner of his eye as she put on her celebrity façade and greeted the others at the table.
But when she’d sat next to him and they’d talked, he saw glimmers of it again—pieces of a fragile soul he sensed she kept hidden from other people. A longing to drop the
I-got-it-going-on
persona and instead let someone else take charge.
And oh, what he’d do to her—
for
her—if he was in charge of her. His pants had tightened at the thought.
It wasn’t just a sexual attraction. He’d also enjoyed the conversation, even though they hadn’t talked about anything important or of consequence. There was something in her easy tone that made him feel like he could keep talking to her forever. About nothing. And he could certainly keep looking in the deep chocolate pools of her eyes forever.
Prepared for her or not, Seth Rafferty was star struck.
Then she found out what he did for a living—or what she
thought
he did for a living—and everything changed. The playful sparkle in her eyes vanished while the color drained from her face and her smile curled downward into a look of disgust.
And Seth was struck again, this time with disappointment.
“So what do you think?” Patrick asked, eager for Heather’s reaction to the new event format.
“Hmm,” she said as if trying to decide how to phrase her response. Seth sensed her delay wasn’t about the format at all. She was grappling with the realization that he wasn’t an exec for Montblanc. That she’d been conversing with someone
beneath
her.
He shook his head slightly trying to shake off the fascination he’d had with her, disappointed to find she was one of
those
actresses. One with an ego as big as her reputation proclaimed. Too much of a diva to even recognize the names of prominent crew members like himself. What a shame.
He’d been with her type before. His ex-girlfriend—ex-fiancée. Erica. She’d been the type who only cared about him when his status proved worthy. It was bullshit, and he’d changed the way he dated after her, careful to only involve himself with women who liked him when they didn’t know dick about what he did for a living.
After more hemming and hawing and three sips of wine, she spoke. “Actually, Patrick, I think the idea’s terrible.” And once she’d found her voice, she couldn’t stop. “I mean, a set? For the 24-Hour Plays? Why? The lack of a set—the impressionism of the whole situation—that’s part of the beauty of it. Why would you change it? What do you hope to add with this element?”
Patrick’s eyebrows rose. “Oh, well, we just…”
“No offense to you, Seth.” She glanced toward him, not really looking at him and he winced at how arousing it was to hear her say his name. “I’m sure you’re amazing with a hammer and everything. But…it’s just…it’s wrong.”
He shrugged, not daring to talk. He was too appalled and pissed and turned on to speak. Anything he said would just get him in trouble, and not the good kind of trouble.
“I’m so sorry to hear you feel that way, Heather.”
Seth sneered inwardly at the sincerity of Patrick’s amends. Patrick held power in this situation. Why did he feel he had to smooth over the ruffled feathers of some snotty actress? What she needed was a good spanking.
And then thoughts of her creamy skin turning pink under his hand had him needing to adjust himself under the table.
Settle down, boy. She’s not worth it.
“Does Rosie know about this?” Heather jutted her lip out in challenge.
If she’d jutted that lip out to him, Seth was pretty sure he’d have to bite it.
Not worth it, remember?
“Yes, and Rosie was completely behind it.” Patrick took a swallow of his martini— more of a gulp. “In fact, Heather, you’re the first person who’s opposed it.”
“Maybe you aren’t asking the right people. I’m sure people like Seth here are all for it because, you know, set construction is his thing and all.”