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  Desire—at least I think it was desire—darkened his gaze.

  “I’ve got to go,” I blurted. I couldn’t believe I’d just been so bold, and I was too scared to think about what my eyes were communicating. Kiss me? Take me? Or I’d possibly just looked plain terrified, which was even worse.

  I slid my hand away, ignoring the way it tingled from our contact, and all but ran for the door.

  Chapter 13

  “That’s great, Chloe, but I think we’re going to try something different for this take.”

  I looked over at the director, Malcolm Cohen, who was standing beside the camera. He leaned in and spoke quietly to the DoP—Director of Photography—Patrick. They both nodded.

  “Can I get wardrobe on-set please?” Malcolm called out.

  Barbara, one of the wardrobe ladies, rushed onto the set.

  Matthew Scott, the young guy I was shooting the scene with, met my eyes. I played a student at the university Faith’s character taught at, and Matthew’s character, Ryan, was a fellow student. In this scene we were sitting across from each other in the cafeteria.

  “Is my shirt creased?” I asked.

  Matthew shrugged. “Looks fine to me. Maybe it’s me.”

  “No, you look fine.”

  We both shifted to look at Barbara with curious expressions. Her eagle eye would be sure to see what we didn’t.

  To my surprise, she shrugged too. “You look good to me.” She turned toward Malcolm.

  “Thanks Barbara. Can I just get you to undo the top couple of buttons on Chloe’s shirt?”

  Barbara was a motherly sort of woman in her fifties with wavy blond hair and bright blue eyes. She always made me feel comfortable during wardrobe changes, and I knew all about her two kids, who were my age and attending college.

  I frowned when she turned to me. Her mouth was set in a thin line.

  She avoided my eyes as she leaned over to undo my buttons. I let her straighten the collar and she patted the shirt so it sat right.

  She moved to one side and Malcolm immediately spoke.

  “No, no, that’s not enough. Try another button and make sure the shirt sits so we can see some cleavage.”

  I darted a surprised look at Barb and watched as she turned back to the director with a hand on one hip.

  “I think it looks good the way it is,” she said.

  “Well, I’m telling you it doesn’t,” Malcolm shot back, not bothering to hide the annoyance in his voice.

  Barb hesitated but then undid the next button on my shirt. “Sorry, sweetie,” she whispered.

  I glanced down at my shirt and my frown deepened. “Malcolm? You can see the top of my bra. Barbara’s right.”

  Malcolm waved Barbara off-set. “No, no, that’s perfect. You look great.”

  I glanced down at my shirt again, or more accurately my now exposed chest, and felt my heart sink.

  I was no stranger to Hollywood’s desire to sexualize me, and that included various directors and producers I had worked with during my mid-teens. Over the last five years I’d developed something of a sixth sense in avoiding the worst of them, helped by Mama’s fierce protectiveness. I was disappointed I hadn’t seen this coming. I decided to play the sweet card in the hope that maybe I was mistaken.

  “Are you sure? I mean, if I were Matt’s character I know where my eyes would be during our conversation,” I joked.

  I knew I didn’t have a big cleavage but my petite breasts were definitely on show for the world to see.

  I heard Matt clear his throat and noticed he was being careful not to look at me. Or that part of me.

  “Spot on, Chloe,” Malcolm said. “And Matt, make sure your eyes wander now and then when we shoot the scene.”

  “That’s not what’s in the script,” I protested. I hadn’t meant for my voice to come out so loud.

  Malcolm sighed. “What’s the problem, Chloe?”

  I forced myself to breathe calmly before I answered him. “I thought it wasn’t that kind of movie, that’s all. You know, Ivy, my character, is studious and not worried about being one of the cool girls. That’s why she ends up helping to uncover the secret files.”

  I flinched when I saw Malcolm shoot Patrick an impatient look.

  “Studious can be sexy,” Malcolm informed us, and clapped his hands together to get everyone ready for the shot.

  “Wait!”

  Malcolm sighed again and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not sure why you’re having a problem with this.”

  “I just don’t think it fits the character,” I persisted.

  “Chloe,” Malcolm chided, “I don’t think you have anything to be shy about anymore, do you?”

  The set fell silent and my cheeks reddened. Oh my God. Had he just implied what I think he had? That because there was now a video of me all over the internet with Johnnie’s tongue down my throat and his hands down my top, my body was public property?

  I inhaled a shaky breath and, to my horror, found myself blinking back the sting of tears. It had been a long time since I’d been quite so rattled by a nasty director’s comment. To Matt’s credit, he looked upset on my behalf and he gave me a reassuring smile.

  “You look fine,” he whispered, but I noticed he was careful to keep his eyes on my face.

  I swiveled to face Malcolm again. “That’s not my point,” I said quietly.

  He tilted his head and regarded me thoughtfully. “It’s not like you to be so difficult, Chloe.”

  I blinked and leaned back in my seat. I looked down at my gaping shirt and swallowed.

  “Fine,” I said. “I’m ready.”

  “HE DID not.” Faith’s voice was practically a growl.

  I nodded forlornly. ‘Difficult’ in Hollywood terms meant you were the sort of outspoken woman who wasn’t considered nice.

  ‘Nice’, of course, was code for being the sort of actress who just went along with everything she was told. The whole point being that ‘nice’ actresses were guaranteed more jobs on account of them being so nice.

  Up until now I had always been considered a ‘nice’ actress. When I’d been confronted with uncomfortable moments like this in my past, relying on my sweetness usually meant people’s efforts to objectify me could only go so far. Maybe getting older finally meant losing some of that sweetness after all.

  “Do you want me to speak to him? We all know I’m difficult.”

  I observed Faith and smiled weakly. We were in her trailer and she was wearing one of those power suits again that made me want to call her ma’am. Her dark eyes sparked with anger and she was gripping the edge of the table in such a way that I felt sorry for the table.

  “No, it’s OK,” I told her. “I just needed to tell someone.”

  Faith released the table and strode over to stand in front of me. She placed her hands on my shoulders. “You’re not imagining it. And I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault.” Faith was always so self-assured, it seemed unusual for her to apologize for anything.

  “I know, but the video upped the ante.”

  Faith released my shoulders and leaned back against the counter behind her. “You’re all grown-up now and Hollywood prefers sexy over sweet. It just took them a bit longer with you because you actually are pretty sweet.”

  “Obviously not anymore,” I joked.

  “You’ve reached the age where your sexual currency has become more important.”

  That was ironic when I still hadn’t slept with a man.

  Faith took my silence for disbelief. “Trust me. The next ten or fifteen years your breasts and butt will get as much screen time as your face will.”

  She sighed again and went to sit down at the table. “Hey, at least you’ve got years ahead of you where the movie roles will land in your lap. My sexual currency is running out.”

  “What? You’re kidding right?” Faith was one of the sexiest people I knew.

  She tapped her red nails on the tabletop. “I have to face it.
I’m thirty-eight soon. Most of the female leads are played by women in their twenties and early thirties. I’m fast approaching middle-aged mother roles.”

  “That’s bullshit.”

  Faith smiled at my uncharacteristic oath. “Yep, total bullshit, but that’s Hollywood.”

  I went to sit across from her. “I’m mad at myself for not buttoning up the shirt, but I was just so shocked when Malcolm brought up the video.”

  “You’re not the first actress to be pressured like that. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

  “So is this what happens now? When I speak up, I’m ‘difficult’?”

  “More than likely.”

  “You’re difficult and you still get roles.”

  “I’ve lost a few, too.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yep. Fortunately I have a good agent.”

  “Well, I don’t want to be nice all the time either,” I told her, realizing now I’d said it out loud that it was true. “Especially if it means standing up for myself or having creative input.”

  “Good for you,” Faith said, and I could tell from the gleam of admiration in her eyes that she meant it.

  She held out her hand to me. It was an invitation.

  I reached across the table and we shook.

  She raised an eyebrow knowingly. “Welcome to the club.”

  We laughed.

  “Right,” she told me. “You’re finished for the day, aren’t you?”

  I nodded.

  She grinned at me. “This calls for a drink.”

  Chapter 14

  Several glasses of champagne and a few hours later, I weaved my way down the hall to my bedroom.

  Faith and I had toasted my career-limiting decision to be ‘difficult’ in her trailer. I’d had an enjoyable evening listening to her regale me with stories of her twenties and all the occasions she’d been branded ‘difficult’. When she let her guard down, Faith was so much warmer and funnier than I’d anticipated.

  I smiled to myself, stumbling, and my shoulder bumped the wall.

  “Whoops.” I giggled. I was definitely going to pay for the glasses of champagne I’d consumed when it was time to wake up at four in the morning for tomorrow’s shoot.

  “Oh, well,” I mumbled.

  I was so busy talking to myself I barely noticed the noise coming out of Damon’s studio.

  I leaned back against the wall and listened properly.

  “Oh, my,” I breathed.

  It wasn’t noise at all. It was an amazing song I’d never heard before. It was almost a ballad except for the edgy blues guitar that was playing. And the guy singing. Who was he? Damon had never played this band before. I’d have to ask him who it was. The guy’s voice was sexy and smooth and deep and filled me with a sudden surge of desire.

  I closed my eyes and let myself enjoy the music while my head whirled from the alcohol.

  The music stopped mid-chorus and I heard voices talking.

  My eyes flew open.

  Oh my God. Damon wasn’t playing recorded music. Someone was playing live.

  I pressed a hand to my chest and my skin felt warm. I’d left the shirt open as an act of defiance. Damn right I could be sexy. But from now on, I’d be sexy on my own terms, thank you very much.

  My heart beat faster as I crept away from the wall, toward the door to Damon’s studio.

  It was open just a crack and I peered in, then sucked in a sharp breath.

  Holy hell, Gabe was here. Damon was sitting at the drums chatting to him. That had been Gabe singing? It was his guitar doing strange things to my belly and his voice that had felt like a caress on my skin?

  I stumbled backward in shock and tripped over my own damn feet. I was still too tipsy to have the forethought to shut the hell up as I fell. I squealed as my butt hit the ground.

  “Ow,” I winced, rubbing my hip, which had also taken the brunt of my clumsiness.

  The door to Damon’s studio flew open and Gabe appeared at my feet.

  “Shit. Are you OK?” He didn’t wait for me to answer and scooped me into his arms.

  I moaned, my head spinning. I wasn’t sure if it was from the pain or from Gabe. Once again his intoxicating scent made me want to bury my head in his chest and breathe him in.

  “Crap.” Gabe’s arms were around my waist and he released one of them to support my head.

  Damon wasn’t so sympathetic. “Chloe? What the fuck?”

  I tried to smile. “Hi.”

  Damon rolled his eyes. “Were you spying on us?”

  I pouted. “No.” I focused on Gabe again and my stomach tightened when I saw him looking at my lips.

  “Then what the hell were you doing?” Damon demanded.

  “Huh?” Oh. Gabe’s eyes were even more amazing up close. Flecks of hazel were scattered through the gray.

  “Chloe?” Gabe said gently.

  “Oh, right. Sorry, yeah. I was just coming home and I heard you playing—it sounded fantastic by the way—and I was going to come and tell you so, and I, ah, tripped.”

  Yeah, that sounded reasonable. For a drunk person.

  “You’ve been drinking.” Gabe appeared amused.

  “Seriously?” In comparison, Damon did not look happy. “Aren’t you supposed to be filming?”

  “We were.” Gabe was still holding me and I wondered how long we could stay like this. My hip pressed against his thigh and I could feel heat coursing through me where we touched.

  “Chloe?” Damon sounded tired.

  “Sorry.” Having a normal conversation in such close proximity to Gabe wasn’t proving easy. “We’d finished filming and Faith and I were celebrating.”

  “How can you be finished filming?” Damon asked. “I thought you had another six weeks on this movie?”

  I grinned and Gabe removed his hand from my head, but thankfully he kept holding onto my waist.

  “Yeah, that’s right. We were celebrating the fact that I am now officially difficult,” I told them proudly.

  Damon stared at me like I’d lost my mind.

  “You wouldn’t understand. You’re a guy.” I kept smiling at Gabe. “I’m not nice anymore,” I whispered.

  His lips curled in amusement. “I wouldn’t say that.”

  I patted the bare skin above my breasts and his gaze lowered.

  “See?” I said triumphantly, poking out my chest.

  I saw him swallow.

  “When the director wanted to expose my breasts to the world, I protested! I’m now officially difficult.” Fortunately I was too happy from the champagne to feel it necessary to mention that I’d filmed the scene anyway.

  “Hang on.”

  I felt a stab of disappointment when Gabe set me on my feet properly and let me go. “What do you mean the director wanted to expose your . . . ” He swallowed again.

  “Hey, can we not talk about my sister’s breasts? It’s weird.”

  “Oh, you’re going to be seeing a whole lot more of them,” I promised, and Damon paled noticeably while Gabe’s mouth flattened. I jabbed a thumb at my assets. “These are part of my sexual currency, in case you haven’t noticed. You don’t think I get leading roles because of my skill as an actress, do you? No way. In this town it’s because of my hotness.” The word hotness had come out in a whisper, like I was making the point I was sizzling hot.

  “Jesus,” Damon said.

  “No, it’s true! No more sweet and innocent Chloe from now on! Hey.” I grabbed one of my auburn curls and was forced to go cross-eyed to get a good look at it. “Maybe I should get my hair cut? You know, like Miley or Katy Perry? That would be cool.”

  “You’re not getting your hair cut.”

  Both Damon and I looked over at Gabe in shock.

  “Ooh, you’re angry. I like it when you get angry.”

  His eyes were doing that stormy thing again and it was just so damn sexy.

  Gabe blinked and Damon looked a bit sick.

  Damon stepped toward me. “Sorry dude.
I’ll just help her to her room and I’ll be back in a sec.”

  Damon caught my arm and started dragging me away. I squirmed in his grip and then slapped him away.

  “No! I’m difficult! Didn’t you hear me?”

  “I already knew that, sis.” His voice was calm and his dark eyes, so very different to my own blue eyes, focused intently on me. I knew that look. This was Damon about to attack.

  I edged away and squealed when Damon dived for me, then ran up the hallway giggling.

  “For fuck’s sake, Chloe!”

  Damon sprinted after me but I managed to dive into the doorway of his bedroom. I slammed it shut in his face and locked it, all the while laughing manically.

  He banged on it. “Dammit, Chloe! Open the door.”

  My laughter subsided to a giggle and I crept through his bedroom. I had no idea why I was creeping, it just seemed like the thing to do when I was trying to make my escape.

  I went through his bathroom and out the other side, which connected to an unused guest bedroom.

  Then squealed—or tried to—when a hand closed over my mouth.

  “Got you,” Gabe whispered in my ear.

  I twisted in his grip, then went limp in his arms. This was a battle I didn’t want to fight. His other arm was around my waist and my back was pressed against his chest. I could feel the curve of my butt pressing into him and I inhaled a shaky breath.

  I felt myself sway—in a good way. The man was like a drug to me.

  Gabe steadied me. “Hey. How much have you had to drink?” He moved his hand from my mouth.

  “I’m not sure,” I said softly, not wanting Damon to hear us. “Three or four? But it was on an empty stomach. What can I say? I’m a cheap drunk.”

  “And difficult.”

  The amusement in his deep voice made my toes tingle.

  “Damn right. Except you know what I don’t get? Why can’t I still be sweet and difficult? Or at least sweet and sexy?” I twisted in his grip to look up at him and bit my lip. Gosh, he was gorgeous.

  His eyes roamed my face, lingering on my mouth. “Dirty sweet,” he said, his voice low.