“Seriously,” she said, louder than she meant to.
“What’s the problem?”
Looking up, her eyes followed the line of a tailored grey suit, an open white doctor’s coat, a starched shirt collar buttoned tightly around a tanned, muscular neck. That jawline, those too-sexy, too-perfect features. Those dark eyes that reminded her of the rich earthy browns of the forests she’d played in as a child, and revealed something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
Nate stared down at her, an infuriating look on his face, like she was a museum curiosity he’d discovered and couldn’t work out its usefulness.
“Nothing you’d be able to help with,” she said, breaking eye-contact. There wasn’t time to waste on Nate Mitchell right now.
“Try me,” he insisted.
It was tempting to tell him exactly how trying he was, but it was probably easier to just get the conversation over with. She paused, glaring at him, and then relented. “Fine. If you really want to know, I’m struggling to find a trustworthy source ofinformation about bedrest for mothers in the 1950s. I need to know if they were still recommending—”
“No, they stopped that in the 1950s,” Nate said without hesitation. “They’d realised by then that too much bedrest could lead to deep vein thrombosis and wasn’t really all that useful or necessary.”
She stared up at him in surprise.
“What?” he asked. “You think I’d be in a historical medical drama and not do my research?”
“How do I know you’re right?”
“I am.”
He certainly seemed confident about it. Jess shrugged. “I just assumed actors repeated the lines they were given and wouldn’t need to do any of their own research,” she said. “Kind of like mindless drones.”
His eyebrows raised slightly, but Jess could see by the twitch of his lip he was amused rather than offended.
“Nice to see you have a healthy respect for my career choice.”
“I guess I’ve known one too many actors.”
“I like to think I’m a little more than a mindless drone. Closer to trained robot, at least. But—” He shrugged. “They are the correct bedrest facts. You can trust me on that.”
They’d given him less makeup today. Perhaps he was filming close-up shots this morning and needed a more subtle look. His natural features sans makeup made him look even better, unfortunately.
A rebellious curl of warm-brown hair fell onto his forehead. He pushed it back casually, still looking down at her, and Jessfelt a familiar pulse of heat. She rolled her eyes. He was way too attractive.
“We’re ready for you both now,” Laney approached, tapping Nate on the shoulder and looking down at Jess. “Did you find the information the writers needed?”
“Yes, actually,” she said, watching as Nate’s lips spread into a wide smile.
Okay, he had been helpful. Although she hated that she’d needed his help. But it was probably part of his plan. Flash his perfect white teeth, put on the charm, and somehow know the information she needed, and she’d be softened up and hand over the cottage. But that cottage was perfect for her right now, and she wouldn’t be swayed by good looks or fake friendliness. So he could forget that tactic.
Nate held out his hand to her. “Shall we?”
Who did this man think he was? She felt her face flush as her blood temperature rose to boiling. Glaring at him again, she made sure he knew she wasn't impressed. Continuing the infuriating ‘gentleman’ act, he smiled and waited, hand out.
Laney was still watching them so, reluctantly, Jess slid her hand into Nate’s and let him help her up. His smile held, but she could swear he flinched, just for a split second, when they touched.
With a solid but gentle grip, he lifted her towards him, holding her firm so she could steady herself against him.
Once on her feet, he squeezed her fingers slightly, sending unexpected jolts of electricity through her body, then released her. The tingling aftereffect of his touch spread across her now empty palm.
What was that?
She tightened her jaw and rubbed her palm against her thigh, wiping the feeling away. There was no way she’d let herself fall for it.
As tempting as it was. As tempting as he was…but, no. He could lay the charm on as thick as he liked; she wasn’t softening. She knew his game.
