Star Struck (Lights, Camera #2) by Laurelin Paige-bilion (Page 3)

Star Struck (Lights, Camera #2)(3)
Author: Laurelin Paige

As if her eyes had a mind of their own, they travelled lower, past the well-groomed scruff that covered his face to the T-shirt that hugged his bulky chest and thick biceps. Even through his clothes, she could see how muscular he was. This guy was strong. The kind of guy who could pick her up and swing her over his shoulder with one easy movement. The kind of guy who either worked out religiously or had a job that kept him in the best of shape.

The kind of guy who’d probably be a little rough in the bedroom. Not too rough. Just rough enough.

Her core clenched at the thought.

A blush crawled up her face. Why was she thinking like that? Sure, she hadn’t had any in…she quickly did the math. Though she’d tried to hook up with Micah Preston, a costar in her last film, he’d turned her down, leaving her sexless on that six-week shoot. Before that, Collin had been on location in Italy. And before that, she’d been in Australia filming…

Damn. It had been over eight months. No wonder she felt horny.

“You’re trying to figure out what role I have in all this.” The man’s deep voice poured over her like a glass of Merlot, warming her head to toe.

“What? Oh, sorry. Yeah.” She fell into his statement, using it as an excuse for her staring. “Hmm…” She pretended to try to figure it out, still too stunned by his beauty to actually put together real thoughts.

“I’m not going to tell until you guess. If that’s what you’re waiting for.”

“No. Though it’s not fair that you know who I am and I have no idea who you are.”

Jesus, she was flirting. With a stranger.

Not a problem. She flirted with everyone. He didn’t know she actually felt what she promised in her seductive tone.

“Who says I know who you are?”

Her mouth opened but no words came out. She’d assumed he’d known who she was because, well, everyone knew who she was. And now she’d made an ass of herself.

He laughed. “I’m kidding. Even if I didn’t know who Heather Wainwright was, I’d guess you were the actress spokeswoman. You ooze celebrity.”

Was he making fun of her? She couldn’t tell. Except the way his mouth twisted up in a small smile suggested he was playing with her. No one ever played with her. They kowtowed and charmed and kissed her ass. His obvious indifference to the Hollywood rules made her tummy flutter. Were those butterflies in her stomach? How long had it been since she’d had butterflies for a guy?

Trying to ignore her squirmy insides, she played back. “And you ooze…” She scanned him again. What he oozed was sex. Pure, hard, all-male sex. But she was trying to guess his role in the 24-Hour Plays, not define what he did to her physically. Besides, she was sure he already knew.

“I ooze….what?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Nothing bad, I hope.”

“No. Good things.” Definitely good things. And she’d just said that out loud.

Though they’d maintained eye contact for most of the conversation, he caught her eye now with such intensity she had to look down, her face warm. “Let’s see…” She skimmed the faces around them, attempting recovery. “You’re sitting with Neil. So I might assume crew.”

Please, God, don’t let him be stage crew. She couldn’t keep flirting with him if he was crew. Could. Not.

It wasn’t that she was stuck-up—no, that was exactly what it was. She was totally stuck-up. Not a quality she was necessarily proud of, but it had gotten her where she was today. For that reason alone, she embraced it.

But this man exuded something more superior than crew. She already had identified all the crew heads, so what on earth would he be in charge of? He certainly didn’t read as one of the Urban Arts reps. They all huddled together at one side of the table, a bunch of modern day hippies.

Maybe he represented the venue—the Broad Stage. He could be in charge of the coordinating volunteers.

But his well-sculpted body, his confident demeanor said differently. He didn’t sit at a desk. He had strength and power. He had to be with Patrick. There was no other answer. “You’re also sitting near Patrick’s team. And your jeans and T-shirt are designer. I’m going to have to say you’re a Montblanc Exec.”

“You peg me as an exec? Okay.” He chuckled. “But my ex-girlfriend picked the clothes out. So maybe that shouldn’t be a factor in your concluding thoughts.”

“Ex-girlfriend?” Shit, she was so obvious.

“Yes. Ex. I’m single.” He took a swig from his beer, mesmerizing her with the way his lips circled the bottle. “As are you, if I’m to believe what I read standing in line at the grocery store.”

“Very single.” She might as well have invited him to her bedroom. What the hell was she doing? She knew nothing about the man. Nothing beyond the fact that he was H-O-T hot.

As if reading her thoughts, he held out his hand. “Seth Rafferty.”

His name sounded familiar, but she couldn’t place it. She was horrible with names anyway. She gave up trying when his firm grasp closed around her fingers. His touch shot sparks of bliss up her arm and straight down to the warm spot between her thighs. “A pleasure to meet you.”

He held her hand longer than he needed, his rough thumb grazing back and forth against her soft skin. “Not to sound too cliché, but the pleasure is all mine.”

“Good, you’ve met Seth.”

Heather pulled her hand into her lap as Patrick took his seat on the other side of her, setting a glass of wine in front of her as he did. “I was afraid the waitress would take too long to get in here, so I just ordered at the bar.”

Heather barely heard Patrick’s explanation of his delay or how her wine had arrived. What she focused on was his first line, his acknowledgment that he was glad she’d become acquainted with the yummy specimen sitting next to her. That practically confirmed Seth was with Patrick’s team. Not a crewmember then. Thank the Lord.

“Yes, we just met.” She lowered her head, fearing her cheeks were coloring yet again.

If he noticed her blush, Patrick gave no indication. “Have you told her?” He directed his question to Seth.

“Uh, no.” Seth shifted in his chair. “I was leaving that for you.”

Heather’s brow furrowed, confused by the vague exchange between the men.

“Well then,” Patrick said, his eyes lighting up. “Heather, we’re doing something new this year. You know that all the plays performed in the event are written and put together in a twenty-four hour period. This year, instead of just using a projected graphic background, we are also adding set. Whatever pieces can be constructed in the same twenty-four hour period.”