Not a Fairy Tale. Romy Sommer
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she’d faced its challenge. He liked that in a woman.
Nina was just as obsessed with how she looked and what people thought as every other actress he knew, and she probably lived on a diet of grated carrots and lettuce leaves most of the time, but she had potential. She didn’t seem like the kind of woman who’d have a hissy fit if she broke a nail working out.
“Why me?” he asked. “Why not book yourself into a boot camp or hire a personal trainer?”
She shook her head. “Anyone can do that. I need to be better. To win this role I’m going to need to do a lot more than just run on a treadmill or do Pilates classes. I don’t only need to get physically fit, I also need to get into Sonia’s headspace. I need someone to push me, to challenge me. I need to be able to walk and talk like her. Now when I walk into a room, people see the girl next door, maybe a little sassy, a little outspoken, a bit of a klutz, but no one would think of me as a badass. I want to be able to walk into the casting director’s office and have her think Lara Croft just walked in.”
He raised an eyebrow. “And you think I’m going to be able to teach you all that?”
She grinned, expression cheeky. “You’re the most badass person I know.”
“I’m not badass. I live in the suburbs and drink green tea.”
“What can I say? I don’t get out much.” She cast him a sideways glance, all but batting those too-long fake lashes of hers. “Besides, you wouldn’t really want me to go hang out in some biker bar to learn to be badass, would you?”
He frowned. Not that he believed she would, but even the mere thought of Nina in a bar full of drunken men was enough to make his fists clench. “It takes most people a lifetime to become badass. How much time do you have?”
“Six weeks. But I’m an actress. With the right training, I can fake it.”
He looked at her, saying nothing, and she hurried on, “There are so many things I haven’t yet done in my life that Sonia would know how to do. That’s all I’m asking, is for you to help me do a few of those things.”
“Things like?”
“Load and fire a gun, be able to hold my own in a stage fight, take a fall.” She grinned. “Ride on a motorcycle and walk on a beach at night.”
“There are stunt schools that teach those sorts of things.”
She shook her head. “And have a whole bunch of people watch as I make a fool of myself? No thanks! I trust you.”
He ignored the obvious flattery. “A stunt school would be more all-rounded. You need trainers who can do vehicular stunts and pyrotechnics and weapons training. I’m a martial artist with a specialty in falls.” And he wasn’t even good at those these days. He flinched at the memory of his last fall, from a Paris hotel balcony to a snow-covered lawn. Without the luxury of airbags or protective clothing. It had been one jolt too many for his already- damaged body.
“But you have the connections,” she persisted. She made her eyes big and round. “Please?”
He did have the connections. And he could do this. The risk was minimal. But whether he should was another matter entirely.
Mistaking his hesitance for reluctance, her face clouded over. “I’ll pay you well.”
He shook his head. “It’s not about money.”
“You already have plans for the next few weeks?”
He looked away. “I haven’t got any work booked in.” And he’d love an excuse to postpone the surgery. “Why do you want this role so much? Tell me about this script and what you need to learn and I’ll consider working with you.”
The radiance in her face was enough to take his breath away. He’d be the first to admit his ego needed stroking a little now and then, too, and when a woman looked at him like that it made him feel like a hero. He needed that feeling more than ever these days, now that he’d been forced to face his own mortality.
They strolled back the way they’d come, and as they walked, she talked about the role. Here in the quiet of the beach, with no one else around, her voice washed over him, slow and sensual and mesmerizing. But was that a soft, Southern accent creeping in? He’d been sure she was from somewhere in the Midwest.
He shook his head. Perhaps he’d imagined it.
What was certainly not his imagination was the passion she felt for this script. More than simple admiration for the role, it was as if she wanted to be Sonia.
“This story really means something to you.” He sat down on a sandy spot high up the beach and patted the ground beside him.
Nina sat beside him, pulling her knees to her chest, and looked up at the sky, not answering him for a long moment. “I read the books at a very hard time in my life. Sonia’s story helped me through it. They took me very far away from what I was going through.”
He watched her face, the moonlight turning her expression stark.
She sucked in her lower lip. “I’ve always been the odd one out in my family. For the Alexanders, duty and service to others have always been more important than personal happiness. I’m not like that. Playing Sonia is the closest I’ll ever get to saving the world single-handed.”
That was a hell of a lot of pressure to put on oneself. What kind of superhero family did she come from? Probably cops or military. But he didn’t ask. He didn’t want to know. He never asked women about their families. Because when you asked those kinds of questions you jumped straight into ‘complications’ territory.
He stretched out on his side, cushioning his head with his arms, and a moment later she lay beside him, not close enough to touch, but close enough that he could feel the rise and fall of her breathing.
Their gazes held and desire sizzled through him. He’d wanted her from the first time he’d seen her, and the temptation now to take what he wanted was almost more than he could stand. So why didn’t he? It wouldn’t take much to close the distance between them, to lose himself in those full, pink lips.
He rolled away to lie on his back and look up at the clear, night sky.
He had very few scruples when it came to women. As long as it was consensual and legal, she was fair game.
But somehow with Nina he couldn’t bring himself to make a move. Perhaps because she deserved so much better than him. She deserved better than Paul de Angelo, too.
She most definitely deserved better than casual sex or a one-night stand, which was all he was looking for.
She was so quiet he wondered if she dozed. He wouldn’t be surprised after the day she must have had. The preparations for Oscar night were almost as grueling as the event itself. Not unlike the rush of working on a film set: exciting, challenging, invigorating, and exhausting all in one.
But when he turned his head to look at her, she was awake, watching him through half-lidded eyes. With a small smile she crept closer and laid her head on his chest. He let her.
For a long time they lay together in silence. He draped his arm over her and she snuggled into him. She had to be cold in what was left of her fancy dress.
She shifted against him, resting her chin on his chest to look up at him. “Aside from the adrenalin rush, what’s the best part of your job?”
He had to pause a moment to think about it. The adrenalin rush and the challenge of daring to do the impossible were the reasons he got out of bed every day. “The anonymity. I love the fact that I get to do this fun job, but at the end of the day I can go for a jog along the beach, or drink in a bar without someone sticking a camera phone in my face.”
He could tell by the look on her face that it was exactly the opposite of why she did what she did. She shrugged. “Will you help me?”
“We can talk about it in the morning.”