Her lips twisted. “What’s your trailer number?”
“I don’t let people in my trailer. It’s my home for now. Are you going to let people walk through your home?”
“I thought you actors had an open-door policy.”
Caz swung a script against his leg. “Some of us are discriminating. For instance, you’renot invited into my trailer. So give me the package.” He looked around for her bag, but she’d stashed it in the makeup area rather than carry it around all day.
“Fine. I’ll hang the delivery outside your trailer. What’s the number?”
Caz stretched his arms over his head, drawing her eyes to his biceps. Lean, hard, perfectly on view below the short sleeves of his T-shirt.
“Come on, I’m going there now.”
“So, I’m invited?”
Caz didn’t respond and headed toward the exit. Ashley followed him with slow steps and a small detour by the makeup table to grab her bag.
The security guard let Caz breeze through the exit. Ashley had to show him her identification card. He checked her name, her face, and his list again before he let her trail after Caz. She walked with reluctant, crunching steps, watching him unlock the door to trailer number three.
Caz didn’t stop there; he went in, leaving Ashley debating with herself. Drop the bag here, hang it on the door, or forget about this idiocy all together. The door swung open from the inside, and she took a step around him and into the trailer. The trailer’s interior was small, but nice: leather sofa, flat screen television, and a tiny kitchen. Furnished with a neutral décor, pleasant but lacking personality. Except the air; the air smelled like lemon soap. “Did you clean?”
Caz ignored the question, lifted his eyebrows, and gestured at the bag.
Ashley shifted on her feet. “Is this a trailer for your breaks or do you really live here?”
Caz half sat on the armrest of the couch and rolled his broad shoulders. The fabric of his shirt tightened against his muscles. “For now, I live here, but I plan to buy a place here in the States.”
“Hmm,” Ashley said, delaying the drop-off. This had seemed like such a good idea this morning; now the whole thing felt weird. Her stomach twisted, and she couldn’t tell if she was nervous or simply hungry. All they’d had for lunch were diet sandwiches and raw veggies. She decided to forget the package and get out. “Okay. I gotta go. I’m starving.” Maybe she’d make pasta tonight. Dad liked Italian, and Alfredo sauce was quick: cream, butter, parmesan. He wouldn’t have to wait long for her to prepare the meal. Or, the sauce would keep in the fridge if he couldn’t make it home in time for dinner.
“The package?”
“I think they put us on a diet because we broke the bleachers,” Ashley offered as a distraction and took a step back.
“No, it’s because we’re on film. Cameras add pounds.” Caz patted his flat stomach.
He had that lean, elegant look, but he’d been heavy against her legs. Her right calf had a sizeable bruise thanks to his poundage. He must weigh more than he looked. Her head tilted to the left as she assessed him. If he took his shirt off, she could really see.
Caz repeated, “The package?”
Ashley tossed him the drugstore bag, face on fire, and darted for the door. “It’s from the studio,” she lied.
Moving fast, Caz caught her arm in a tight grip. He held Ashley in place and upended the bag. The contents fell free.
Thump.
The square, plastic-wrapped box landed face up, centered on the coffee table. The label screamed, Deluxe Condoms.
Chapter 4
Ashley swallowed and rubbed her free hand across her warm face. Caz, wearing a struck expression, lifted the box of condoms. The plastic wrapping crinkled against his fingers and he gazed from the box to her. Clearly, she’d surprised him, and if he said anything about the size or type, she’d die. Ashley pulled against his grip, but he held her in place.
Staring at the gift in consideration, he said, “You fancy me?”
She tried to wriggle out of his hold. “What?”
“Are these an invitation?”
Ashley didn’t think it was possible to blush any harder, but the heat in her face almost burned. Clearly, he didn’t buy her story about the studio being behind the purchase.
Her voice rushed out. “No. I heard someone say something about sabotaging them. Yours. And I didn’t think that was fair, so those are sealed. Use those when you…um…when you, you know.”
“Because I’m an actor, I’m off sleeping with everyone?”
Ashley shrugged. “Probably. You movie stars aren’t exactly known for your restraint.”
Caz frowned. “What exactly did you hear?”
She couldn’t tell if he didn’t believe her or just wanted to know the whole story, but she wasn’t gossiping with an actor. Squirming against his hold, she said, “I may have gotten the story wrong, so I’m not repeating it.”
“I want to know what you heard,” his clipped British voice commanded.
“Contrary to what you think, you can’t always get what you want.” Ashley jerked free.
“You’re quoting song lyrics?”
“British ones,” she offered.
A smile edged the corner of his mouth and his grip loosened. “Tell me.” His voice took on a charming, persuasive tone.
Ashley wavered. The tone had the power to make her capitulate far more than his commands. Feeling herself weaken, she turned and escaped.
***
Ashley felt Caz’s eyes on her, but she avoided him. She didn’t want round two of yesterday’s embarrassing scene, so she wasn’t going near him today. Staying busy kept her away for the first hour.
As soon as Caz realized she was avoiding him, he took matters into his own hands. “PA.”
Despite having such short legs, Olive could move quickly. She beat all the other assistants to him. Winning the race didn’t score her the prize, though, because Caz waved her off with one word. “Ashley.”
Ashley couldn’t avoid a direct request; it was her job, so she joined them. “Yeah?”
“I need some assistance.”
“With?”
He raised his eyes as if thinking. “Olive, what do you usually assist with?”
Olive gave a little hop. “Anything you need, Mr. Thaymore. I can arrange for food, a change of clothes, cushions for your chair, foot massages.”
“PA,” the AD called.
Olive looked torn, her eyes darting from the assistant director to Caz, then back, as if trying to judge who was more important. Ashley took a step toward the director and Olive made a hissing sound and pushed past, leaving her with Caz.
Caz chuckled and rose from his chair. He actually had a chair with Thaymoreembroidered on the back above a shiny gold star. Petra had one too. The rest of the crew took their breaks leaning against the wall or sitting on a crate of equipment, feeling lucky if they were able to grab a crate before they were all occupied.
Caz stretched his arms over his head and leaned side to side. The hem of his shirt rose, showing an inch of his skin. “I probably could use a massage later.”
Ashley rolled her eyes. “I have to roll some cable. Your distressed muscles will have to wait.”
This pattern continued for the rest of the morning. If another assistant responded to his calls, Caz sent them away, and because Caz was the star, everyone indulged him. If he wasn’t directly calling her over, he was staring. Ashley couldn’t interpret his looks. Either he wanted to find out more of what she’d overheard, or hook up with her, or maybe both.
During one of his breaks, Caz said, “What’s your phone number?”
Ashley sighed. “You don’t need my number. I’m always here.”
Caz flipped his phone open and examined the screen. “What if I need something after we wrap for the day?”