Gross.

“I think so. Rebecca too. Nick’s going to try to make it. He’s supposed to be back from Oregon sometime next week,” she answered, her cheeks barely flushing.

Hmmm. Off again?

Wow, the whole gang. We knew Rebecca through Jack as well. She was a part of the Time cast. Nick was, well, Nick.

“Is he still working on that series?”

“Trying to. He wanted so badly to go legit, but he misses Hollywood too much.” She snorted as she stood up to leave. Nick was a screenwriter and had been working on a documentary for PBS. He was on location most of the time now. It would be good to see him. He texted me all the time, telling me how much he missed me, but I know secretly he just wanted to look at the pretty. He had a major crush on Jack, and he loved to make it as obvious as he could. Which was pretty obvious.

After Holly left, I looked at myself critically in the mirror. I could see a difference. I could definitely see more “cheekbone,” but did that mean I was ready to sex it up for the camera? I twisted this way and that, checking it out from all angles. I thought I looked pretty good, but that damn camera. They say it adds ten pounds, but I think that’s when you’re under thirty. Over thirty, I think it was a few more than that. David made sure I was watching the dailies and could see what I really looked like.

I texted Chip Chip the Devil Man and added an extra workout for tonight.

Air is good.

* * *

In the end, I tried like hell to give them the cheekbone they asked for. I barely ate for three days, ran my ass up and down the canyon like I was getting paid to, which I was, and worked out more than I had ever worked out in my life. I moved that scale two pounds. Two pounds! And don’t think I didn’t hear about it, everyone had their two cents to say about my two pounds. Diet tips, weight-loss books, fasting schedules, everyone had an opinion. But we also had a tight shooting schedule to stick to, so when SS Day (Sex Scene Day) came, I breathed deep and went for it.

We had blocked the scene earlier that morning, the actor who I had been working with on this particular story arc was great, supersweet and very good-looking. Relatively new to the industry, he was just as nervous as I was, so we psyched each other up.

It was strange, rolling around on a bed with another actor and trying to make it seem natural, when it was more choreographed than my high school pom-pom routines. Hand here, knee bent here, stick your butt out here, but keep it covered with the sheet, it was like a grown-up game of Twister. Mabel, my character, was having a one-night stand, and when I met the actor I could understand why.

A few minutes before we were ready to shoot, I headed over to the craft table for a bottle of water, my throat suddenly dry at the thought that I’d be rolling around on said bed in my skivvies, otherwise known as pasties and a thong. Mumbling a cheekbone mantra in my head, I turned a corner and overheard David talking to the assistant director. Really wished I hadn’t.

“It’s fine, wardrobe’s sending over a bunch of those teddy things, just tell her it’ll be sexier to have her covered up, more suggestive that way,” the AD said.

“Suggestive, sure, that’s a good word for it. I’ve got a lead actress who’s got no business being naked on-screen and can’t do something simple like lose twenty pounds.”

Twenty pounds?

“I’m telling you, the teddy will work out fine.”

“More like teddy bear.” David snorted, and the two walked back toward the set. I stood there for a moment, in shock.

“You cold?” I heard from behind me. Michael.

“Cold?” I asked, closing my eyes to blink back the tears.

“Yeah, you’re shaking,” he said, walking in front of me and rubbing my arms. I could tell him. I could tell him what I had just heard; he was my friend and he’d likely intercede on my behalf.

Not sure this is the kind of thing one wants to draw attention to, is it?

No, no it wasn’t.

“Nerves I guess,” I muttered, opening my eyes just in time to see the wardrobe consultant walk up to me.

“Grace? We’re making a last-minute change. David thought it might be sexier to have you in one of these, give the audience more to think about, right?” she asked, waving a bunch of black lace in front of me. Michael, clueless, smiled and blushed.

“Sure, let’s give them something to think about,” I agreed, beginning a slow burn.

That poor actor, I threw him all over that bed. Rolling around in my black lace and my curves, I made damn sure David saw just how sexy a teddy bear could be. Something that would have made Last-Year Grace shrink up and curl into a ball made This-Year Grace pissed off and ballsy. When they called wrap for the day, I crawled off the bed after giving my costar a high five, ignored the robe someone tried to give me, walked past David while meeting his eyes the entire time, and strolled the rest of the way to my trailer. Across the lot. In my teddy. And Adidas soccer sandals. To a chorus of catcalls and whistles from every single male crew member I passed.

By the time I walked up the steps to my trailer, I was smiling big and laughing out loud. After I banged open the door, my eyes fell on the only thing that could have made me smile bigger. Jack.

* * *

“What are you doing here?” I grinned, walking over toward where he was relaxing on the couch.

“Christ, Grace, what are you wearing?”

“Just shot my first sex scene,” I said proudly as he pulled me down onto his lap.

“And you walked across the entire lot like that?” he asked, his eyes everywhere, hands quickly to follow.

“Proving a point, but more to the point, what are you doing here? I didn’t think you were coming in till tomorrow?” I squealed as he pressed a kiss under my ear.

“They didn’t need me anymore, so I caught an earlier flight and headed straight here. If I’d known there were garters involved, I would have been here sooner.” He grinned appreciatively, snapping one and making me bounce a bit.

“And they just let you on set? Into my trailer?”

“Thank god all the PAs read People.” He laughed, leaning back to look at me. I blushed, reminded again of my state of undress. I took the opportunity to look at him as well. Christ, he looked good. Deeply tanned and his eyes were emerald green but darkening by the second. He still had the short hair, made even more blond by the sun. Beautiful.

I tried to think through all the implications of having him here, on set. Anyone could talk; anyone could sell this story to the tabloids.

Jack Hamilton meets Grace Sheridan on set of new TV show for a quickie . . .

He could see me overthinking it, knowing exactly what I was worrying about when I chewed my lip.

“Hey, Crazy. It’s okay. We’re adults, for Christ’s sake, they all know exactly what we’re doing in here.” He chuckled, his laughs dying down as his lips searched out my skin. I sighed without thinking, my hands coming up to his hair and tucking in.

“But what if someone talks? What if . . . Jesus that feels good.” I tried to focus my brain scrambling and coherent thought becoming more and more difficult. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust the cast and crew, and while we were deliberate with our behavior in public, we were much less so in a professional setting like this. Just because we didn’t comment publicly, and allowed Holly to tell the press we were just friends, didn’t mean that we were not every bit a couple when alone or with people we knew. And I felt like I knew everyone on this set. However, it still made me feel exposed a bit. Speaking of feeling exposed . . .

“I just spent two weeks in the desert with a bunch of guys, and if I’m not inside you immediately, I can’t be held responsible for what I might do otherwise, you hear me?” he murmured into my ear, kissing and nipping at my shoulder, my collarbone, my jaw.

“Mother-of-pearl that’s good,” I moaned as he lifted me up onto the table.

“Please don’t talk like one of the Golden Girls right now; it might be the only thing that could stop me at this point,” he pleaded. Giggling, I wrapped my arms around him and gave in to what I was feeling, skin heating as his hands swept over me, taking in the black lace and sassiness. With a wicked grin he sent my panties sailing across the room, and I gasped as he dropped to his knees. Suddenly I was not so concerned with trailer rocking and the mocking that was sure to follow.

“I think you said I owed you five, right?” he asked, nibbling on the inside of my knee, pushing my legs farther apart.

“You can spread those out over time; they don’t have to all be at once—mmm.” I moaned as he pulled me into him. I had a brief insane image of the movie Jaws when the old guy goes sliding down the boat toward the awaiting shark teeth, but it was quickly thrown back out of my head at the sight of this gorgeous man kneeling between my legs.

“Brilliant,” he whispered, and bent his head to me. Lips, tongue, fingers, everything and all of it, focused and pointed, swirling and twirling, he loved me as only he could. Hooking my thighs over his shoulders, he surrounded me with a constant steady pressure, knowing inherently when to slow and when to speed, when to press and when to push. When my knees were shaking and my cries were stupid and love drunk, he rose quickly and let me unbutton his jeans.

“How do you want me, Crazy?”

“I want you; that’s about all I can tell you at this point, dealer’s choice.” I groaned, still dizzy from the three trips around the world he had already taken me on. I slipped my hands inside his jeans and grasped him, wanting and warm. I raised an eyebrow at what else I found, or rather didn’t find. “Good call on the commando, George.”