The Curvy Voice Coach and the Billionaire Actor (He Wanted Me Pregnant!) by Victoria Wessex Page A
Authors: Victoria Wessex
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the cool touch of the stone.
The sunlight made dappled patterns on the ground and, looking back down the path, the white mansion was framed in front of us. The scent of oranges was thick in the air. It was movingly beautiful. And peaceful. And...secluded.
There is nothing weird about this, I told myself. There is nothing weird about sitting here alone, just the two of us, on a bench—
My fingers were unconsciously tracing the shape of a carving on the back of the bench. I looked. A heart.
A bench obviously meant for lovers in a very romantic spot at his private mansion.
“Could we try something else, now?” Tanner asked. “Instead of more ‘ the rain in Spain’?”
I swallowed. What was he building up to? “Go on,” I said hesitantly.
He shifted just slightly closer on the bench, turning fully to face me. He put one arm along the back and his hand brushed mine. “Just say if you’re not okay with it,” he said.
“I will,” I croaked. Oh God...what’s he...he can’t be going to….
“Could we….”
The world held its breath.
“...read from the script?”
Everything started moving again. Relief slammed through me, quickly followed by anger at how stupid I’d been. What did you think? That he was going to kiss you? Get real! And on the heels of those two, a third emotion: disappointment.
“Of course,” I said without thinking. I just wanted to cover my embarrassment. “Actually, that’s a great idea.”
He beamed, and his smile made something inside me lift and soar. “Great,” he said. And passed me a script. “You get it easy. You already have the accent.”
I took the script and leafed through it until we got to the scene he wanted to do. This is a good idea, I told myself. He can practice the accent and learn his lines at the same time. But as I started to look at the words a sort of sick dread started to spread through me. My whole life, I’d stayed away from the stage. Voiceovers were different—no one could see you. Here, Tanner was sitting right next to me.
And he’d picked a romantic scene. He was telling the heroine how beautiful she was. I closed my eyes, trying not to panic. He couldn’t have picked anything that was less comfortable for me.
“Annabel,” he told me in his best attempt at an English accent. “I’ve thought about nothing else. I’ve neither slumbered nor eaten. You’re a beautiful, dangerous sickness in my heart, one I have no desire to cure, but you must tell me how you feel before it destroys me completely.”
I opened my mouth and closed it again. I knew, of course. I’m not completely stupid. I knew it was just a line from a costume drama. I knew it was aimed at Annabel, the slender, winsome young thing that Tanner’s character was in love with (even though he was meant to be marrying someone else). I knew that, but—
Just for a stupid, stupid second, it felt good. It felt really good. A gentleman was telling me he loved me. It was like all of my teenage dreams come true.
And then reality came crashing down and I coughed and said, “Good, but hit the des of ‘desire’ more.”
He nodded. And then he looked at me, and I realized he wanted me to read my line, too. I looked at the line. I looked at him. “Is that necessary?”
“I need it to respond to,” he said simply.
I swallowed. “Thomas,” I said haltingly. “You—You’re betrothed. Virtually a married man. We must ignore what our hearts tell us.” ANNABEL TURNS AWAY, the script said, so I turned away.
I read THOMAS MAKES HER FACE HIM at the same time Tanner grabbed my shoulder and spun me back to look at him. I found myself gaping up into his face.
“I love you, Annabel,” he told me. His eyes tracked down my body and then back up. “Your body is a thing of wonder. You are a goddess given form.”
I suddenly choked and turned away from him—for real, this time. It should have been a beautiful speech. But that part where he’d looked me up and down...it just made me
The sunlight made dappled patterns on the ground and, looking back down the path, the white mansion was framed in front of us. The scent of oranges was thick in the air. It was movingly beautiful. And peaceful. And...secluded.
There is nothing weird about this, I told myself. There is nothing weird about sitting here alone, just the two of us, on a bench—
My fingers were unconsciously tracing the shape of a carving on the back of the bench. I looked. A heart.
A bench obviously meant for lovers in a very romantic spot at his private mansion.
“Could we try something else, now?” Tanner asked. “Instead of more ‘ the rain in Spain’?”
I swallowed. What was he building up to? “Go on,” I said hesitantly.
He shifted just slightly closer on the bench, turning fully to face me. He put one arm along the back and his hand brushed mine. “Just say if you’re not okay with it,” he said.
“I will,” I croaked. Oh God...what’s he...he can’t be going to….
“Could we….”
The world held its breath.
“...read from the script?”
Everything started moving again. Relief slammed through me, quickly followed by anger at how stupid I’d been. What did you think? That he was going to kiss you? Get real! And on the heels of those two, a third emotion: disappointment.
“Of course,” I said without thinking. I just wanted to cover my embarrassment. “Actually, that’s a great idea.”
He beamed, and his smile made something inside me lift and soar. “Great,” he said. And passed me a script. “You get it easy. You already have the accent.”
I took the script and leafed through it until we got to the scene he wanted to do. This is a good idea, I told myself. He can practice the accent and learn his lines at the same time. But as I started to look at the words a sort of sick dread started to spread through me. My whole life, I’d stayed away from the stage. Voiceovers were different—no one could see you. Here, Tanner was sitting right next to me.
And he’d picked a romantic scene. He was telling the heroine how beautiful she was. I closed my eyes, trying not to panic. He couldn’t have picked anything that was less comfortable for me.
“Annabel,” he told me in his best attempt at an English accent. “I’ve thought about nothing else. I’ve neither slumbered nor eaten. You’re a beautiful, dangerous sickness in my heart, one I have no desire to cure, but you must tell me how you feel before it destroys me completely.”
I opened my mouth and closed it again. I knew, of course. I’m not completely stupid. I knew it was just a line from a costume drama. I knew it was aimed at Annabel, the slender, winsome young thing that Tanner’s character was in love with (even though he was meant to be marrying someone else). I knew that, but—
Just for a stupid, stupid second, it felt good. It felt really good. A gentleman was telling me he loved me. It was like all of my teenage dreams come true.
And then reality came crashing down and I coughed and said, “Good, but hit the des of ‘desire’ more.”
He nodded. And then he looked at me, and I realized he wanted me to read my line, too. I looked at the line. I looked at him. “Is that necessary?”
“I need it to respond to,” he said simply.
I swallowed. “Thomas,” I said haltingly. “You—You’re betrothed. Virtually a married man. We must ignore what our hearts tell us.” ANNABEL TURNS AWAY, the script said, so I turned away.
I read THOMAS MAKES HER FACE HIM at the same time Tanner grabbed my shoulder and spun me back to look at him. I found myself gaping up into his face.
“I love you, Annabel,” he told me. His eyes tracked down my body and then back up. “Your body is a thing of wonder. You are a goddess given form.”
I suddenly choked and turned away from him—for real, this time. It should have been a beautiful speech. But that part where he’d looked me up and down...it just made me
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