Genuine Lies

on a list?”
    Furious, he released her to snatch up his wine. This was not the way he’d intended to begin, or end, the evening with her. Control had always been so simple before. He was afraid it would never be simple again—not around Julia.
    “I won’t be forced to feel, or be bullied into an affair.”
    “You’re absolutely right. This time, at least, I’ll apologize.” Calmer, he smiled. “That’s thrown you off, hasn’t it? Which may be the best way to handle you, Jules. The unexpected disarms you.” He traced a finger down her cheek, which was now very pale. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
    “You didn’t.”
    “I scared you to death, not my usual way with women. You’re different,” he murmured. “Maybe that’s what I’m trying to cope with.” Taking her hand, he kissed her fingers gently. “At least I’ll go home confident that tonight you’ll think of me.”
    “Since I’ll be working for another hour, I’m afraid I won’t.”
    “Oh, you’ll think of me,” he told her as he strolled to the door. “And you’ll miss me.”
    She nearly smiled when he closed the door behind him. The hell of it was, he was right.

It was good to be back in harness again. For Eve, there was nothing quite like filming to jolt the mind and body to full alert. Even preproduction work was its own kind of arousal, a long and incredible foreplay to the climax of performing for the camera.
    This kind of lovemaking involved hundreds of people, and it pleased her when she recognized some of the faces. The grips, the gaffers, the property men, the sound crew, even those assistants to the assistants. She didn’t think of them so much as family, but as participants in an orgy of work that, if done well, could result in intense satisfaction.
    She had always been cooperative and patient with the technicians she’d worked with—unless they were slow, incompetent, or lazy. Her ease and lack of arrogance had earned her the affection of crews for half a century.
    As a matter of professional pride, Eve would tolerate hours of makeup and hairdressing without complaint. She detested the whiners. She was never late for a wardrobe fitting or rehearsal. When necessary—and it had often been necessary— she would stand in the blazing sun or shiver in the rain while a shot was being reset.
    There were some directors who considered her difficult to work with, for she was not a complacent puppet who danced at the pull of a string. She questioned, argued, insulted, and challenged. By her own count, she had been right as often as wrong. But there was no director, no honest one, who would label her unprofessional. When action was called, Eve Benedict hit her marks. She was usually the first off book, with her lines fully memorized—and when the lights were on and the cameras rolling, she slipped into character as effortlessly as a woman might step into a bubble bath.
    Now, after nearly a week of last-minute meetings, script changes, photo sessions, and fittings, she was ready for some meat. She sat, smoking and silent, while her wig was arranged. Today they would rehearse, full costume, the ball scene where Eve’s character, Marilou, met Peter Jackson’s Robert.
    Due to a scheduling conflict, the prior blocking and choreography had been done with Jackson’s stand-in. Eve knew the actor was in the studio now. Several of the females on set had been murmuring about him.
    When he walked in, she understood why. The dynamic sexuality she’d seen onscreen was as much a part of the real man as the color of his eyes. The tux showed off his broad-shouldered build to perfection. Since he’d be required to go shirtless through much of the film, Eve imagined that beneath silk and studs he had the chest for it. His rich blond hair was unstyled and added a touch of little-boy appeal. His eyes, heavy lidded and tawny, added straight sex.
    Eve knew his bio listed him at thirty-two. It could be true, she thought, getting her first good look at him.
    “Miss Benedict.” He stopped beside her, smooth voice, silky manners, sexuality purring in neutral. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. An honor to have the chance to work with you.”
    She extended a hand, and wasn’t disappointed when he lifted it gallantly to his lips. A scoundrel, she thought, and smiled. Maybe those weeks in Georgia wouldn’t be so trying after all. “You’ve done some interesting work, Mr. Jackson.”
    “Thank you.” When he grinned, Eve thought—oh,