A Midsummer Night's Romp by Katie MacAlister Page A

putting my weight on it. “Thingsalways come out of my mouth wrong. See? Like that. Also risqué, although wholly unintentional, I assure you.”
    He laughed. “I like what comes out of your mouth. Oh, lord, now I’m doing it.”
    â€œSadly, it appears I’m contagious. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Ainslie—”
    â€œGunner, please.”
    â€œIt’s nice to meet you, Gunner, but if you’ll excuse me, the producer of the TV show has requested my presence, and he’s probably wondering where I am.”
    I hurried off at a fast limp before he could respond, desperate to get away from him before I blabbed something untoward at him. The knowledge that I was a fake and a liar burned a hole in my gut. “Just my luck there’s a bona fide photographer waiting out there to expose me,” I muttered to myself. “And a handsome-as-sin one, to boot. Like I don’t have enough issues with him without enjoying sitting on his lap the way I did.”
    And that in itself was an oddity. With most men, my initial response was a level of wariness and caution, but there I was sitting on Gunner’s lap and enjoying it greatly without the least little concern as to what sort of a man he was, or how he might react to me.
    And long, hard experience had taught me how foolish it was to trust a man.
    Which made it all that much more curious that my unconventional meeting with Gunner didn’t immediately push me into assessing the situation, and my position therein.
    That and similar dark thoughts were dismissed when I arrived at my destination. “Oh, hello. I understand you wanted to see me?”
    Roger was in the process of emerging from his RV when I hobbled up.
    He looked appalled at the sight of me, causing me to wonder if I had fallen into dog poop or something equally repulsive without being aware of it. “Good lord! Are you injured?”
    â€œNot really. Just a little minor accident, nothing serious. Oh, is that why you’re looking so horrified?” I gave him a relieved smile. “I thought my deodorant had failed. I’m fine, really.”
    â€œAccident? What sort of accident? Christ above, I’ll have the health and safety people down upon us before the shooting has even begun!”
    â€œNo, no,” I said soothingly, “it wasn’t really an accident. Just my clumsiness.”
    He looked doubtfully at me. “You didn’t hurt yourself on any of our equipment, did you? Because if you did, the production would still be liable—”
    â€œActually, the lord of the manor’s brother ran me down with his mobility scooter, but I’m not really hurt. Just a little bruised on the top of my foot. My boots are pretty sturdy.”
    â€œOh, it was Gunner’s fault,” he said, visibly relaxing. “Then it’s the estate’s responsibility. That’s excellent. Now, I have a little project in mind, and as you are one to appreciate quality television such as the shows that I have produced in years past, I thought you might be interested in participating.”
    â€œWhat sort of project?” I asked warily, trying to form an excuse for avoiding anything but the most minimal involvement.
    â€œAh, well, this is where my brilliance lies, in thinking up truly spectacular opportunities. And one of them is you.”
    â€œIt is?” My voice squeaked a little with surprise. “I don’t think anyone has ever thought I was any sort of opportunity, let alone a spectacular one. This wouldn’t have anything to do with Roman slaves, would it?”
    â€œNo, no, although . . . hmm. I’ll think on that. Might have possibilities. But this is truly a wonderful opportunity for you to really get to know the dig process, and should provide us both with some wonderful coverage—you for your book, and us for the viewers.”
    â€œI’m a little