Three Marie Ferrarella Romances Box Set One Page 12

  “Tell you what,” he said, sliding in close to her. Somewhere between the floor and the covers, Shane noticed that Nick had managed to shed his pajama bottoms again. “You guard my body for me tonight,” he proposed, with a fresh sparkle in his eyes.

  Shane did more than guard it.

  But the idea of a bodyguard did sound like a good one to her as they all but sneaked out of the lodge the next morning, trying to avoid being noticed. Nick’s world certainly did have its drawbacks, she thought as she snuggled close to him in the taxi bound for the airport. And it all went part and parcel with the man. She wondered if she could cope with it all and whether she could stand being part of the background if she gave up her career for him.

  A new problem met them on their return to the set. Nick had only meant to stop by to pick up his copy of the script, which he had left in his trailer. Bowman apparently had preceded him to the set, and could be heard bellowing at some cowering gofer who had delivered a message.

  “Sounds like all our little vacation did was improve John’s voice,” Nick said in a loud “aside” to Shane as they approached the director. The set was empty, and their words sounded strangely hollow, echoing about the cardboard interior of the Saxon castle that was Nick’s home in the movie. “What’s the trouble, John? The studio reroute the cameras to Hawaii?”

  Bowman looked at Nick, disgust written over his lined brow. The gofer took the opportunity to retreat from the line of fire. Shane stood quietly by, paying minimal attention to the scene, cocooned in the ermine jacket Nick had given her. Her thoughts were on her own problems.

  “No, the damned cameras are on their way,” he snapped.

  “So? Why the sunny smile?” Nick prodded.

  “It’s that damned girl!” Bowman rasped, chewing on still another cigar. He slapped his pockets for a match and came up empty. “Got a match?” he demanded of both of them.

  Shane shook her head.

  “Filthy habit, John,” Nick told him. “If you don’t give it up, you’ll only live to be ninety instead of a hundred.” Bowman thrust the unlit cigar back in his shirt pocket.

  “What damned girl?” Nick asked casually. He leaned against the long stairway where his big dueling scene was to take place. The look on his face was patient.

  “The short one—the one with the hair ...” he muttered, once more searching his pockets for a match.

  “We don’t have any actresses who are bald, John,” Nick reminded him. “At least not to my knowledge.”

  “The one who did all the shampoo commercials,” Bowman spat out in exasperation. His search had been useless as well.

  “Oh, Mona. What about her?”

  “She’s down with hepatitis,” Bowman said accusingly, as if it had happened merely to annoy him. “And we were set to shoot first thing tomorrow. Blast it, where the hell am I going to get a replacement now?” He ran his hand over the short white fuzz that covered the top of his head.

  Nick was quiet for a moment, and Shane caught him staring at her closely. The light that came into his eyes made her uneasy. When he had talked about his love for his profession on the flight back, she had mentioned to him that she had been in several productions in college. She had admitted to liking the sound of the applause when the final curtain came down. She could see now that Nick was connecting the two pieces of information.

  “Shane has Mona’s coloring,” he told Bowman.

  “So does the wardrobe mistress,” Shane pointed out, shaking her head in protest.

  “Too old and too short,” Nick said. He turned to Bowman. “What do you think?” Shane thought he sounded eager.

  Bowman circled her, frowning deeply. Shane felt almost like an inanimate object. “If anyone asks me, I think it’s crazy,” she retorted. Bowman kept circling slowly. “Mr. Bowman, there isn’t that much of me to see. Please stop circling like that.”

  “Might work,” Bowman said to Nick. “Might work. It’s not a big part. Can you memorize lines?” he snapped at Shane, addressing her for the first time.

  “Yes, I can memorize lines, but—“ Her protest went unnoticed.

  “Okay,” Bowman announced. “What do we have to lose? We’ll try her. You, give her your script,” he said to Nick. “Tell her what she has to do. And you,” he ordered, pointing a bony finger at Shane, “get your tail down to wardrobe early tomorrow. You look like what’s-her-name’s size, but she’s flatter than you. Wardrobe’s going to have to adjust something or other.” With that, he stomped off, muttering something about wishing he’d never gotten into the movie business in the first place.

  Nick put his arm about Shane’s shoulders. “Welcome to stardom.”

  Shane blinked. “What just happened here?” she asked, still a little shell-shocked.

  “Old John worked his charm on you,” Nick told her as they walked out into the bright daylight again.

  “I don’t think this is such a hot idea.”

  “You’ll be terrific,” Nick assured her, kissing her temple. “Trust me—I have an instinct about these things.”

  “Oh? Is that what you say to all the young starlets who flock to you?” she asked coyly as they finally rounded the corner to his trailer. Nick unlocked the door.

  “Only the ones who make me absolutely wild! Don’t worry, it’ll be fun. I’ll be right back,” he promised, slipping out of sight behind the door.

  Shane leaned against the trailer, crossing her arms over her chest. Fun? Well. . . maybe . . . just a little. A smile began to form on her lips. It would be an interesting angle to include in her article. Why not? It’d be a lark. And hadn’t she once wondered what she’d look like in a movie? Hadn’t every woman in a dark theater given way to such daydreams at least once?

  “All set,” Nick assured her, coming down the two steps from his trailer. He took her hand. “C’mon, let’s get started. I’ll be your coach,” he said, hustling her back to his car.

  Shane spent the night with Nick, learning her lines and movements for the three short scenes that were to be hers. The flavor of the movie became more evident to her, and she actually found herself enjoying the make-believe world that was being created. And she began to understand Nick a little better too.

  Nick’s command to rise and shine seemed to come five minutes after she had put her head down on the pillow. Before she even had a chance to open her eyes, Nick was throwing off the covers and pulling her out of bed. No morning light seeped through the heavily draped windows. Shane tried to focus on the luminous dial of the antique clock on his bureau.

  “Nick, it’s the middle of the night,” she cried.

  “No it’s not,” he told her, pulling her into the bathroom.

  “My mother taught me that 4:00 a.m. comes in the middle of the night,” she protested.

  “You’ve got an early call at the wardrobe department,” he reminded her, shedding her nightgown for her, then stripping out of his pajama bottoms.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “I thought we’d shower together,” he told her with a grin. “Saves time.”

  It very nearly didn’t, not with his soaping her body the way he did. For vengeance, she returned the favor, making sure she took an extra-long time lathering him. She could feel his response to her. She smiled triumphantly, turning her head as he tried to kiss her beneath the water streaming from the shower head.

  “Uh-uh,” she said, wagging a finger at him. “Remember, I have an early call—“

  “And I have an early urge,” he replied, shutting off the water and pulling her into his arms.

  “Nick! You up?” Scottie’s voice came through the closed outer door as he knocked several times. “I’ll have the car around front to drive you to the set in five minutes,” he announced.

  Shane felt Nick’s body sag in defeat against her. “I shouldn’t have promised his mother I’d look out for him. So far, he’s interrupted us three times.” He threw open the shower door and grabbed at the towel first, holding it out of Shane
’s reach. She let her hand drop, waiting.

  “If you were a gentleman, you’d let me have the towel first,” she said, pretending to pout.

  “Oh, I’m a gentleman, all right. But I also like seeing your body glistening with water, the beads shimmering all along the length of you. They make very interesting patterns that I’d like to trace when time permits,” he said, allowing his finger to follow one path along her breast, down her nipple, and then along her rib cage to her navel.

  “The studio,” Shane reminded him with an effort, taking up the smaller, hand towel and beginning to rub herself dry. If she let him continue, all the words she had hammered into her head last night would vanish in the flames of her passion.

  “Good waist,” the wardrobe mistress pronounced as she adjusted the heavy, beaded gown to Shane’s body. Shane was to play the daughter of the king, and as such had three different, beautiful gowns to wear. This was the ultimate little-girl fantasy, Shane thought, trying very hard to hold still and not perspire under the weight of the dress.

  “Healthy bosom, too,” the older woman said, nodding as she let out a seam right under Shane’s bust. “Good cleavage for the camera.”

  They made it all sound so technical, Shane thought. It was almost as if she were reciting numbers out of a catalog.

  “There,” the woman muttered, smoothing out the wide white lace collar that accented the décolletage of the dress, “that should do nicely. Pretty color for you, too,” she added, pleased with herself. The dress was a deep green brocade, with white beads woven all through it. The lower part of the sleeves hung to the ground. “Better hurry along, dearie. Mr. Bowman hates to be kept waiting,” the wardrobe mistress advised her, practically waving her on her way.

  As if she could hurry anywhere, Shane thought. Trying to maneuver in the dress was tantamount to learning how to ride a bike. She lifted her hem and tried to point herself in the right direction. The dress grew heavier with each step she took toward the set.

  She arrived just in time to catch the end of the director’s speech informing everyone that he fully intended to make up for any time they had lost due to the ruined equipment. He had never had a picture run over its allotted time, and he didn’t intend to start now.

  “Not much of a pep talk, is it?” Nick whispered, coming around behind Shane. She looked up at him in surprise, not having expected him to pop up like that.

  He looked more surprised than she did. Or was the word “pleased”? she wondered, watching him take in the picture that she made in her stunning costume. She was afraid to move her head too quickly, for fear of dislodging the tiny crown that perched atop it. To cut down on time, the wardrobe mistress had sent for the makeup artist, and Shane’s makeup and hairdo had been taken care of at the same time. Shane was ready to go as soon as Bowman called on her, and now she stood eyeing him nervously. What had she gotten herself into?

  “You’re the most beautiful princess I’ve ever seen,” Nick said as the crew members began to take their places behind the scenes. “But don’t look so worried.”

  “I’m not,” she lied. The butterflies in her stomach were turning into jumbo jets.

  “Glad to hear that.” Nick adjusted the cape that hung rakishly over one shoulder. “But I think you’ve gone pale under your makeup,” he pointed out mischievously, casting a sly glance at her.

  “It’s just this costume,” she complained. “It’s a wonder women in those days could even move.”

  “That’s why there was so much hanky-panky going on,” he whispered. “The ladies couldn’t run away.”

  “I’ll buy that. But how did they sit?” she asked with a moan. The dress felt stiff and unwieldy, standing out on either side of her small waist like a huge growth.

  “They didn’t. They went straight to a lying-down position.” He looked at her longingly for a moment, or so she thought. It made her forget her discomfort for a fraction of a second. “But if you’re really tired, there’s a special chair set up for you over there.” Nick pointed off to the side.

  Shane saw what amounted to a cushioned version of a slanted board with armrests. “What?” she asked, thinking he had made a mistake.

  “That,” he said, nodding. “Keeps you from wrinkling your costume.”

  “Looks like a theme and variation on a torture rack,” she commented, eyeing it suspiciously.

  He drew her over toward it, then positioned her carefully, tilting her body just a little, so that her shoulder blades rested against the cushion first. Her long string of white pearls sank down against her chest as she did so. “See, it’s not so bad.”

  It wasn’t. What was bad was trying to get out of it. She couldn’t stand up without help. Nick did not have the good grace to hide his amusement as he pulled her upright again.

  “Tell Bowman I want more money,” she said high-handedly. She could feel a bead of perspiration sliding down her back, trailing into the heavy material of the gown. And she wasn’t even under the hot lights yet!

  “An actress for five minutes, and already she’s getting temperamental,” Nick said to a passing extra, who grinned back.

  “Let’s go, people! This film isn’t going to make itself—although it’d probably be a damned sight better if it did!” Bowman yelled, waving in annoyance toward Nick and Shane.

  “Uh-oh,” Shane said in a very small voice.

  “What’s the matter?” Nick asked, whispering the words against her ear as he ushered her forward.

  “I think I have to go to the bathroom.”

  “Just nerves,” he assured her.

  She was going to be terrible, she just knew it.

  The cry of “Action!” echoed in her brain, mixing in with all the lines of dialogue she had tried so hard to memorize the night before. Carefully, trying not to look at the camera, which was a few inches away, or so it seemed, she pretended she was the character she was portraying. Shane turned from the huge tower window that supposedly looked down on the courtyard, and “gasped” to find Nick staggering into her “room.”

  “Shh,” Nick cautioned, putting a finger to her lips. “I am a friend.”

  How could a person act with lights and cameras all around? she wondered, trying to keep her attention strictly on Nick. “Friends do not sneak into ladies’ chambers,” she said, drawing away from him. Nick had rehearsed her to take two steps backward and look up. Sure enough, a “cord” that was to summon the royal guard hung there.

  Nick’s hand was over hers. “Pray, stay your hand for but a moment and hear me out. I would restore the rightful king to his throne. Pull that cord, and it is not only my head that will be on your conscience, but that of the king as well, and all of England will rue your deed.”

  “The king?” Shane echoed, beginning to enjoy herself. “You are a friend of my father?”

  “Truly,” he said with a bow. “And I would be your friend as well.” He came toward her, his hand lightly caressing her cheek. “I had no idea his daughter had grown into such a flower of loveliness.”

  The movements he used were ones Shane was very familiar with, and she wondered where the actor ended and the man began. He drew her into his arms, and Shane prayed that the wires beneath her gown would not swing out at him.

  “We should not be alone like this,” she murmured. And suddenly she did feel alone with him, alone amid a score of crew members, whirling cameras, and a scowling director. How many other actresses had felt this way with Nick and would feel this way with him in the future?

  “Yea, but we should,” Nick whispered audibly, and he kissed her. The kiss felt like all his kisses did. There was no acting here, no fine line drawn between the world of reality and the world of make-believe.

  “Cut!” Bowman’s voice rang out in the midst of the sweetness penetrating Shane’s world. “Cut, damnit! Seduce her on your own time, Rutledge!”

  That drew a laugh from the crew, and Shane blushed slightly as Nick drew back his head. He kept his arms about her.

  “How
about it?” Nick asked, nuzzling her hair.

  “Is that how you end all your scenes?” Shane couldn’t help but ask. She kept a smile on her face but didn’t feel one inside. What she felt inside was nagging uncertainty. Could she overcome these doubts?

  “Only with my female costars,” he told her with a wink. Then he grew serious as hairdressers emerged out of the shadows, studying both of them carefully to make sure that every hair was in place before they reshot the scene. “Hey, is that a note of jealousy I detect?”

  “Not jealousy,” she denied quickly, then added, in a lower tone, “maybe just a little insecurity.”

  “Insecurity? You? The cocky journalist who goes where angels fear to tread? The lady who beat John Bowman out of a hundred dollars at poker?” Nick threw back his head and laughed. His hairdresser stared daggers at him before combing down a lock of hair that had fallen into his eyes. “You’re the last person in the world who should feel insecure—about anything,” he told her firmly, reaching out and squeezing her hand.

  She smiled back at him, telling herself that she was being foolish. But the nagging little voice stayed with her until late that evening, while she was working on her article. Only then did it fade away. She realized that she needed her work, needed her identity, in order to show up phantom fears for what they were—baseless apparitions.

  “Not bad.” Bowman nodded on the second day of shooting. “Considering you’re a rank amateur, that really wasn’t half bad.”

  “Heady praise from a hard taskmaster,” Nick told her dryly.

  “None of your lip, Rutledge,” Bowman snapped. “Let’s take it from the top!”

  Cameras began to roll again.

  Shane’s presence on the set was required for only three days’ shooting. This included reshooting the one scene that the actress she was replacing had already completed. When it was all over, Shane was a little sorry that it had ended so quickly. Nick was right. It was fun, despite all the hassles, the makeup, which made her itch, and the uncomfortable positions she had to assume while waiting for her next scene. It was hard work, but enjoyable.