one
IAN
“Are you alive down there?”
I blinked my eyes open at the sound of the woman’s voice.
A pair of long, tanned, toned legs came into view. My gaze took a leisurely path up her body, past thin-fabric running shorts, a gray V-neck tee shirt, across collarbones shiny with perspiration, before finally reaching a pretty intimidating scowl beneath a maroon baseball cap.
I’d expected to see concern or confusion at the very least. But the face of the woman staring back at me was creased in disapproval, or maybe suspicion.
I suppose I was a stranger on land that wasn’t mine. A weirdo laid out on the edge of a dirt path like a chalk-outlined victim on an episode ofLaw and Order. I’d played that role once, back when I was just getting started. Mob Corpse #3. It was surprisingly difficult to hold your breath.
I definitely wasn’t holding it now as I struggled to inflate my lungs.
Admittedly, I probably looked a little suspect lying here in my incognito attire—workout clothes, sunglasses, and a Columbus Blue Jackets hat.
Maybe this grumpy mystery woman wasn’t a hockey fan.
I worked to even out my breathing. I no longer sounded like someone with a severe peanut allergy suffering from asphyxiation.
“I’m okay,” I barely wheezed, forcing my upper half into a sitting position.
The woman took a step back. Her stern expression went nowhere, and she radiated distrust.
“Did you hurt yourself somehow?” she asked, voice low and accusatory.
I smiled. I couldn’t help it. She just sounded so damn ornery.
Squinting against the bright sunlight, I tried to make out her features, but the hat covered a lot. She’d clearly been out for a run, and from her lean, lithe form,shedidn’t have any trouble jogging across North Carolina farmland.
“I’m fine,” I told her. “Not hurt. Just out of practice.”
That was a lie. I’d never been good at cardio. I could bench-press over three hundred pounds and do squats and lunges all day long—or until my trainer, Maurice, told me to stop. I’d been blessed with a good metabolism, and I hated cardio, always had.
But there’d just been something invigorating about the sunshine on this mild November day. The rolling hills of the farm had called to me. As had the mountains in the distance. Apple trees formed orderly lines all over. Even though the leaves were brown and in the process of falling, the landscape was still undeniably beautiful. I knew a field of dead and dying wildflowers spread out behind me. I’d admired it briefly before I’d collapsed in a heap from exhaustion on the grass this side of the wooden fence.
We had sunshine and scenery in Los Angeles—an abundance of it. But we also had smog and people and traffic and paparazzi.
When I’d stepped out onto the porch of my rental house over at Grandpappy’s this morning, I’d sucked in a lungful of crisp mountain air and been transported. Totally charmed. Utterly gobsmacked by the urge to touch some grass and maybe even an apple tree.
Exploring the property that would be our film set in a few weeks had sounded refreshing. Until I remembered that I wasn’t a runner, and what the hell had I been thinking, going out for a leisurely jog without my phone?
Air was definitely easier to pull in now. There were no longer black spots crowding the edges of my vision.
Still, the woman stared like I was an inconvenient trespasser.
“Can I get you some help? Call someone for you?” She looked around like maybe my keeper was nearby, since I obviously couldn’t take care of myself.
I noticed the end of a stubby brown ponytail sticking out of her ball cap before she turned back to me.
“I was just resting here a minute to catch my breath,” I said simply, adding a smile to see if that might put her at ease. I had a great smile. It had been voted the best one in Hollywood byPeoplemagazine three months ago. Reigning male champ. No big.
But my “sparkling visage of masculine charm”—People’s words, not mine—didn’t seem to have any effect. If anything, she scowled harder, creases bracketing a wide mouth with surprisingly full lips. This woman was all long, lean lines, but those lips were lush, maybe the softest thing about her.
Thank God I had sunglasses on, or she’d undoubtedly gut me with a Swiss Army knife for checking her out. These rural types were resourceful like that.
Despite the cover, I still made a point to look away from her mouth.
