Bobby’s voice became background noise to thoughts of Cindy. She put her hands behind her back and tried to be invisible, shrinking into herself. There was only one problem with her attempts—she called to him. She didn’t mean to do it—he was pretty sure of that. And yet the moment she stepped into the room, he was hyper aware of her movements, her attempt at going unnoticed, and the small glances she stole his way.
He missed his next cue.
Rubi nudged him with her foot.
“I’m sorry.” He leaned into the pages, searching for his line.
Patricia stood up from her seat on the front row and turned to face the group. Beau knew the second she saw Cindy because Cindy’s back went straight, and her eyes went to the floor. “That was wonderful, Beau and Rubi. Let’s turn to page … seventy-five.” Her voice had an edge Beau didn’t like. He found the designated spot and squirmed in his seat. The kiss.
An intense dislike for Patricia Knight built in his gut. Beau didn’t want to kiss Rubi today; he didn’t want to kiss anyone. Except Cindy. Cindy he wanted to kiss a whole lot—every day—for the rest of his life. But this was his job. Stage kisses meant nothing to actors. And that’s exactly what Rubi meant to him; no offense to her. Two weeks ago he would have loved to add Rubi Bergen to his list of women conquered. She was the quintessential California girl with her long tan legs and blond hair, but she didn’t light his fire.
Not like Cindy did.
“Of course the director will want to block out the scene, but for now, why don’t you two stand up and let’s see what comes naturally.” Patricia smiled and nodded as if her idea was brilliant.
The director set the scene, describing where they were, their motivation, and the feeling he wanted. Beau watched as a small smile played at Cindy’s lips, indicating the director had gotten her vision correct.
“Y’all are in the tomb, torchlight glowing, you’re exhausted after your run-in with Bartlette, and y’all are settling in for the night after just having escaped the caravan.”
Beau closed his eyes, building the pyramid walls around them and filling the floor with sand. He ran his hand down his cheek and imagined dust on his skin. The observers became statues of Horus and Amun and Anubis. Beau was Benjamin Hartley—except for one minor detail: the woman with him was not Rubi. No matter how much he tried, the soft glow of torchlight bronzed Cindy’s skin and warmed her cheekbones. When Rubi said her line, it was Cindy’s voice he heard.
“Do you think we’re safe?”
“For now.” He opened his eyes and brushed a lock of hair off her face.
“Thanks for what you did back there. I thought Bartlette was going to let that guy have me.”
“I wouldn’t let that happen.”
“I thought you didn’t care about the treasure.”
“I don’t. I care about you.” The words tumbled easily from his lips. He didn’t have to wish he was saying them to Cindy, because she was there and so was he. He leaned in and kissed Rubi slowly, just the way the cameras loved, the whole time thinking of Cindy’s lips, of her laughter, and the way she fit against him.
The room erupted in applause. Beau jerked away as he realized the woman in his arms felt wrong, out of place. He let her go and turned to find the real Cindy.
The back wall was empty. His eyes cut to Patricia, who folded her arms and smiled smugly. She’d set him up—pitted his job against Cindy. In that moment, he caught a glimpse of what Cindy had to deal with every day. A need to protect her from this witch grew within him, as large as the stuffed grizzly in the furniture store. He wanted to storm out of there, find Cindy, and haul her off to his home, where she would never have to face her stepmother again.
But then he remembered their conversation over smoothies—her dedication to Knight Studios and her desire to save it from ruin. Saving Cindy didn’t mean getting her out of this place; it meant helping her do what she did best—write. And the best way to do that would be to give his best to this role.
He’d find a time to talk to Cindy, a time when they could be alone and he could hold her close. But now was not that time. Drawing attention to the two of them—witchy attention—would only make her life harder.
With his determination in place, Beau settled into the rest of the read-through.
Chapter 9
Cindy busied herself with paperwork and filing and logging receipts and anything else she could do that would keep her out of the conference room. Away from the place where Beau kissed beautiful women who weren’t her.
Her jealous thoughts battled with her rational side.
It’s his job.
Well, he doesn’t have to be so good at it.
You wanted him in this part.
That was before I liked him.
Just like?
