The Pleasures of Spring (11 page)

‘Oi, mate, it’s this way.’

Fuck. He turned to see who was shouting at him.

The man was shorter than he was and intelligence shone in his blue eyes. His skin was tanned and his bearing looked military. Andy almost saluted.

‘We’re shooting a scene at the old stables. How’s your sword arm?’

‘A little rusty.’

‘But you can ride?’

‘Of course.’

The man grunted his approval. ‘Which branch were you in?’

He was sharp, Andy thought. ‘The Wing.’

‘And what are you doing now?’

‘This and that. A bit of private security here and there – you know how it is.’

‘Indeed I do, my son.’ He thrust out his hand. ‘Frankie Fletcher, pleased to meet you.’

Old was an understatement. The stable block looked as if it had been there since the Vikings invaded Ireland and was about to collapse at any moment, but it was suitably authentic for a Norse raid. Andy was introduced to his fellow actors and he listened as the fight scenes were planned out in meticulous detail.

He had to hand it to Frankie, he knew his stuff. The guy might be in his fifties, but he was fitter than all the twentysomethings on set.

The director clapped his hands and called for silence. ‘And action.’

By mid-afternoon Andy was exhausted. This was as bad as the army. Although the old stable block was freezing, it was like the Bahamas under the heat of the lamps. His shoulders ached from swinging the heavy sword and beneath his chain mail and long tunic, he was sweating.

He was never so relieved as when the director yelled cut. ‘Nice work, guys.’

Andy sat down on a bale of hay and mopped his brow.

Frankie took a seat beside him and drew an electronic cigarette from his pocket. ‘Filthy habit, I know. But I can’t seem to give it up.’

They sat in companionable silence until one of the assistants approached them. ‘Rory is going to be out of action for a week. Can you come back tomorrow? Benny has more work for you.’

Andy nodded. Things had just taken a turn for the better. There would be no sneaking around the set now that he had a job. All he had to do was find Roz.

Abbie Marshall was an average looking woman. Average size, average looks, barely any make-up, brown hair cut into a no-nonsense style that required zero maintenance. Nothing compared to the beauties dressed up for the camera. But when she arrived at Charleville, she took the castle by storm.

Her taxi swept up to the front of the castle, and she leapt out, all energy and inquisitiveness. She grabbed her small bag, threw a handful of money at the driver, and glared up at the tower.

Roz was picking up a script when she arrived, and had no difficulty identifying her. Jack Winter’s marriage to Abbie had been a media storm, and the fact that Abbie hadn’t taken Jack’s surname had all the gossips predicting an early end to the marriage. But right now, she looked like a woman on a mission.

‘Where’s Jack Winter?’ she asked Roz.

‘Come with me.’ Roz led her around the corner and pointed to where the filming was going on. In spite of the trainers under her velvet dress, she could barely keep up with Abbie. The reporter hummed with anticipation.

The director called, ‘Cut!’ and the actors all relaxed.

As if he could smell his mate, Jack’s head came up and turned in her direction. A wide smile lit up his face, and his eyes gleamed impossibly blue. It was as if someone
had plugged him into a power source. He ignored everyone around him and headed straight for Abbie.

When he pulled her into his arms, the electricity between them crackled. He kissed her, oblivious to the audience watching him. And Abbie reached up and pulled him down to her, as hot and passionate as he was.

Every single member of the set stopped to watch. It was like watching a perfect storm. The power and fury of the two lovers was mesmerizing.

The sight of them made Roz smile, but it also awakened a sense of dark resentment and jealousy. God, she wanted that. She wanted a man who would ignore the world for her, someone who treated her as if she was the only woman in the world.

That was what her sister had. And what she didn’t.

Roz was never going to be the one with the prince telling her how much he loved her. Better get used to it. No one loved her. Hell, there were a few people who liked her, who were fond of her. But no one who loved her like that.

Get over it. This is your life. You live in the shadows and watch other people love
.

She wouldn’t cry.

To distract herself, she copied everyone else and pulled out her phone to record the scorching kiss binding Jack Winter and Abbie Marshall.

Finally, Abbie allowed an inch of space between her and her husband and saw what was happening. She wiggled enough to free one arm and pulled out her camera. She twisted around, recording all the people recording her and Jack.

Jack laughed and kissed her cheek, but was careful not to get in her way.

Roz moved back before Abbie could record her. She couldn’t afford to get distracted by this, she had a dangerous stunt to do.

Andy crossed the meadow back to the castle. The damp spring air was chilling and the crew wore padded jackets and stamped their feet in an effort to keep warm. A spotlight was aimed at the turret where an action scene was unfolding.

High overhead, a desperate fight was taking place on the battlements. A woman screamed as she tried to fight off a rapacious group of invaders. She screamed again and clambered onto the stone wall. Andy held his breath.

‘Jesus!’ he hissed as the slender figure, clad in a nightgown, fell from the battlements.

There was a loud thump as the stunt woman hit the giant airbag below.

The crew clapped. ‘Nice work, Roz,’ the director yelled. ‘Let’s do one more take and we’ll call it a day.’

That was Roz? Andy’s heartbeat stuttered.

Holy fuck, she was jumping from at least sixty foot up. She could get hurt. Every instinct in his body urged him to rush in and stop her before she broke her fool neck, but he knew he couldn’t. No one else was looking the least bit worried, and Roz was grinning as she vanished back into the tower.

It was her job, he reasoned. She was a stunt woman.
Roz was paid to get hit with swords and jump out of towers and fall off horses. Every detail was orchestrated and planned. There was no reason for the cold sweat that covered his back.

The second fall was more spectacular than the first. A gust of wind caught her nightgown and it billowed out exposing pale, slender limbs. The cameraman beside him whistled in approval and Andy beat down the urge to thump him.

Finally, the director called it a day and Andy hurried across the lot. At the airbag, there was no sign of her.

‘Looking for Roz?’ one of the crew asked him. ‘She’s gone back inside. She left some gear up there.’

‘Thanks,’ Andy said.

He stepped back to allow two ladies in period costume to exit and hurried up the broad oak staircase to the landing. Ignoring the sign that warned him not to enter, Andy opened the door to the turret staircase and bolted it behind him. He had promised Roz a reckoning and by god he was going to have it.

The spiral staircase was dark and narrow, but Andy took the steps two at a time. Around the next bend, he almost collided with a woman descending. The linen shift was now covered by a blue gown belted at the waist with a golden girdle. Her strawberry blonde hair was bound in a loose plait that fell over her shoulders.

A vision invaded his head of a painting he had seen as a child – one of a knight and his lady meeting on a staircase. The woman’s face was obscured, the knight’s full of tender emotion.

The romantic image was utterly at odds with the raging heat bubbling inside him. Lust, frustration and anger battled for supremacy.

Vivid blue eyes widened as she recognized him. Her wide pink mouth didn’t have a chance to scream before he dragged her into his arms and fastened his lips on hers.

He forgot tenderness, forgot finesse, forgot every practised move he had ever learnt in the art of seduction. Andy ravaged her mouth, thrusting his tongue against hers. He caught her hair in one gauntleted hand, holding her in place while he continued to kiss her.

Her surprised squeal at the sudden assault changed into a soft moan. Roz tasted sweet, like strawberries. Andy tightened his grip around her waist. He wanted to devour her and never stop.

She wound her arms around his neck and returned his kiss with a hunger of her own. A lustful fire raced through his blood, making his nerve endings scream. He tore his mouth away from hers to kiss her jaw line and down her neck, biting and nibbling on the tender flesh.

Damned costumes. They were wearing far too many clothes.

Andy McTavish, in the flesh. When she saw him, Roz was convinced she was dreaming. Or that he was a ghost. She had been in Charleville long enough to learn that it was the most haunted castle in Ireland and was surprised to hear how many of the crew claimed to have seen something moving in the old tower.

She had ignored them all. She had seen enough real-life horrors to pay any attention to silly ghost stories.

But when she saw the chainmail-clad figure on the stairs, with a face straight out of her darkest dreams, she had wondered if she was losing it. The few times she’d seen him, Andy McTavish had been elegant and polished. This rough-edged soldier was different. He could have stepped out of any of her fantasies.

He climbed up to her, and she could smell sweat and oiled leather. All male. His eyes were narrowed but his nostrils flared, like a hunter closing in on his quarry.

She had a feeling she was his prey and she didn’t know if she should run to him – or from him. For endless moments, she stared at him, the tension rising between them.

Andy swooped, pulling her into his arms and kissing her.

The shock of it, of him, kept her motionless for ten heartbeats. Then the heat of his body, the pressure of his mouth, broke through her defences and she took a breath. Before she could move, he pulled her hair, tipping her head back so he could ravage her mouth more deeply.

His mouth was hot, intense, tasting of hungry male. His tongue tangled with hers, giving no quarter.

God, he could kiss. Roz knew she shouldn’t succumb, but she couldn’t resist the intensity and passion he was focusing on her. She put her arms around his neck so she could kiss him back and lost herself in his embrace.

Reality retreated and the hard muscled arms around her became her world.

She had no idea how long she spent kissing him until
the banging at the door below echoed up the tower. Sounds carried in this old castle and she was jolted back to the present.

She jerked herself out of Andy’s arms, trying to steady her breathing and pretend that nothing had happened.

‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded. She was standing a step above him, so she didn’t have to tilt her head back to look into his dark eyes.

‘I came here to get you.’ His words were stark, uncompromising.

For a moment, she thought he meant he wanted her. Then common sense returned. This wasn’t a man hunting for his woman; this was an investigator searching for a witness. Interpol hadn’t given up looking for her. They had sent someone else instead. Did they not realize that Hall would kill her before she ever got to testify? She wasn’t going back there, ever.

‘Tough. I’m working here. I’m not leaving.’

‘I’ll look after you.’ The words seemed to promise more than personal security. And she was shocked to realize how tempted she was.

‘Dream on.’ She wasn’t giving in to temptation. ‘I have a job. Go away and stop bothering me.’

She wasn’t prepared for Andy’s grin. That mouth should be licensed. It teased and promised all at once.

‘As it happens, I have a job too. I’m working on the movie. It looks like we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.’

Roz escaped down the stairs, desperate to get away from him. How the hell could she cope with Andy here?

It wasn’t like she didn’t have enough to worry about. She was out of money until she got paid. Frankie was
determined to involve her in what looked like a tempting scam. Cheyenne was making moves on Frankie and Hall was out there searching for her. And now Andy McTavish was here, kissing her like a starving man.

She headed back to wardrobe to get rid of the old-fashioned robe. How did women wear those things? Especially in a time when there were no zippers and buttons were a luxury.

Cheyenne was in the trailer, shaking. ‘Thank god you’re here, Roz. I don’t know what to do.’

Roz stripped off her gloves and began the long process of unlacing her robe. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘The director wants me to be naked in the lake scene.’

Roz had been about to pull the unlaced robe over her head, but stopped. ‘Is that a problem?’

‘Yes.’ Cheyenne clenched her fists, looking like a militant chipmunk.

‘You’ve done nude scenes before, in that series you were in.’ Roz couldn’t remember the name of it, but she did have a vague memory of a bedroom scene.

‘That was years ago. It was on a closed set, and it was carefully filmed so you couldn’t see my thighs or ass.’ Cheyenne paced up and down, three steps in each direction, all she could manage in the limited space of the trailer. ‘No one mentioned this when I signed the contract.’