scene. Isn’t that crucial?”
“It’s the pivotal point of the movie. Unfortunately Leslie played it as if it were a visit to her dentist.”
Tension curled again, a slipknot pulling tighter as Sasha struggled against it. “I see...and would that be the nude scene you were referring to at the audition?”
“Normally, yes, but for you we’ll work something out. A flesh-colored leotard, maybe,” he said, smiling, his eyes straying momentarily to her breasts. “You seem to like leotards.”
He hadn’t touched her, but he might as well have for the way Sasha reacted. A flush tingled her skin, and she felt warm, short of breath. “I’m an actress,” she insisted, her voice faint, her pride involved. “I don’t need a flesh-colored leotard.”
Marc blinked and grew still, disbelief mingling with irritation. He rose, walked to the bar, lit a cigarette, and took a quick drag. “I’m a director,” he said, a stream of smoke issuing out with the words, “and under the circumstances I’ve decided to forego the nudity in that scene.”
“What circumstances?”
Go easy, he cautioned himself silently, settling his cigarette in the nearest ashtray. He’d dealt with prima donnas before. Most of them needed reassurance, some needed a swift kick in the derriere. This one, he decided, needed to be reasoned with. But another image seared his thoughts before he could stop it. A rearing palomino, her graceful legs pawing the air, her cornsilk mane flying as she refused the bit. A white-gold animal with a spirit too strong to be broken.
He swallowed what felt like a soft groan in his throat.
She stood up. “What circumstances?” she repeated.
“Think about it, Sasha,” he said, his voice rougher than he’d intended. “There’ll be enough tension on the set without imposing a nude scene on an untested actress.” Approaching her, he added quietly, “It’s not you, believe me. I’d have to do this no matter who we brought in. A tense set equals a lousy picture.”
He watched the fire dart in her eyes, and again the image of a shying golden horse overwhelmed him. Again his urge was to gentle her, to quiet her frantic heart under his hands, to melt her limbs to the wild honey he used to love....
It’s not you, palomino, it’s me.
Thinking he saw relief in her eyes, he felt an answering response in his muscles. The truth was he couldn’t handle having her naked anywhere near his set. Looking at her, he knew two things. He’d been right when she’d asked Paul Maxwell to get him another actress for the picture. She had the power to distract him, to foul his creative instincts. She promised to be the final disaster in a series of disasters.
Another truth rocked through him as he walked to the bar to pour himself another drink. It crackled loudly in his brain. It roared like a brushfire, flaring through him, galvanizing his nerves. He wanted her. The impulse was ancient, primitive, and powerful. It was new and painful and sweet. He wanted her like he’d never wanted a woman before in his life.
Four
“T HE CONFLICT IS eating you up inside, okay?” said the blond, boyish acting instructor who’d been working with Sasha for the last two days. Crouched by the arm of Sasha’s makeup chair, he added, “You’re desperately in love with the fugitive that you helped bring to justice, and it’s tearing you apart.”
“Desperately in love—” Sasha mouthed the words, provoking her makeup man into a sigh of annoyance. The ponytailed cosmetician cranked her head around and applied another smudge of purple shadow under her eyes. She had to look gaunt and beautiful and deeply troubled for the upcoming scene, which shouldn’t be too difficult, she allowed, given her lack of sleep and jittery state of mind.
Sasha hated nerves in any form. She had no patience with anxiety attacks whatsoever, and so when they came, always unbidden and at the worst possible moments in her life, she had precious few coping
“It’s the pivotal point of the movie. Unfortunately Leslie played it as if it were a visit to her dentist.”
Tension curled again, a slipknot pulling tighter as Sasha struggled against it. “I see...and would that be the nude scene you were referring to at the audition?”
“Normally, yes, but for you we’ll work something out. A flesh-colored leotard, maybe,” he said, smiling, his eyes straying momentarily to her breasts. “You seem to like leotards.”
He hadn’t touched her, but he might as well have for the way Sasha reacted. A flush tingled her skin, and she felt warm, short of breath. “I’m an actress,” she insisted, her voice faint, her pride involved. “I don’t need a flesh-colored leotard.”
Marc blinked and grew still, disbelief mingling with irritation. He rose, walked to the bar, lit a cigarette, and took a quick drag. “I’m a director,” he said, a stream of smoke issuing out with the words, “and under the circumstances I’ve decided to forego the nudity in that scene.”
“What circumstances?”
Go easy, he cautioned himself silently, settling his cigarette in the nearest ashtray. He’d dealt with prima donnas before. Most of them needed reassurance, some needed a swift kick in the derriere. This one, he decided, needed to be reasoned with. But another image seared his thoughts before he could stop it. A rearing palomino, her graceful legs pawing the air, her cornsilk mane flying as she refused the bit. A white-gold animal with a spirit too strong to be broken.
He swallowed what felt like a soft groan in his throat.
She stood up. “What circumstances?” she repeated.
“Think about it, Sasha,” he said, his voice rougher than he’d intended. “There’ll be enough tension on the set without imposing a nude scene on an untested actress.” Approaching her, he added quietly, “It’s not you, believe me. I’d have to do this no matter who we brought in. A tense set equals a lousy picture.”
He watched the fire dart in her eyes, and again the image of a shying golden horse overwhelmed him. Again his urge was to gentle her, to quiet her frantic heart under his hands, to melt her limbs to the wild honey he used to love....
It’s not you, palomino, it’s me.
Thinking he saw relief in her eyes, he felt an answering response in his muscles. The truth was he couldn’t handle having her naked anywhere near his set. Looking at her, he knew two things. He’d been right when she’d asked Paul Maxwell to get him another actress for the picture. She had the power to distract him, to foul his creative instincts. She promised to be the final disaster in a series of disasters.
Another truth rocked through him as he walked to the bar to pour himself another drink. It crackled loudly in his brain. It roared like a brushfire, flaring through him, galvanizing his nerves. He wanted her. The impulse was ancient, primitive, and powerful. It was new and painful and sweet. He wanted her like he’d never wanted a woman before in his life.
Four
“T HE CONFLICT IS eating you up inside, okay?” said the blond, boyish acting instructor who’d been working with Sasha for the last two days. Crouched by the arm of Sasha’s makeup chair, he added, “You’re desperately in love with the fugitive that you helped bring to justice, and it’s tearing you apart.”
“Desperately in love—” Sasha mouthed the words, provoking her makeup man into a sigh of annoyance. The ponytailed cosmetician cranked her head around and applied another smudge of purple shadow under her eyes. She had to look gaunt and beautiful and deeply troubled for the upcoming scene, which shouldn’t be too difficult, she allowed, given her lack of sleep and jittery state of mind.
Sasha hated nerves in any form. She had no patience with anxiety attacks whatsoever, and so when they came, always unbidden and at the worst possible moments in her life, she had precious few coping
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