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Rick suppressed a smile. Chiara’s manager would love it.
“You’re serious?” his brother asked.
“Yup.” If he was going to engage in this charade, he was going to be all in.
With that in mind, he ended his call with Jordan and went looking for his favorite actress.
Things had slowed down on set because Adrian Collins didn’t like some of his lines and had holed up in his trailer with a red pen. Rick would have gotten involved and gone to read the riot act to the male lead, but he didn’t like to blow his cover. Not even Dan knew how much he had invested in this movie.
Besides, Adrian’s antics were mild in comparison to other off-camera drama he’d witnessed on movie sets—stars kicking each other, hurling curses and insults, and throwing tantrums worthy of a two-year-old while breaking props. Yet another reason he hadn’t gotten involved with mercurial actresses...until now.
As luck would have it, he soon caught up with Chiara some distance from the parked movie trailers. She was walking back alone, picking her way along a dusty path, apparently having finished filming another scene.
Maybe it was unfulfilled sexual desire, maybe it was the picture she presented, but his senses got overloaded seeing her again. Since this morning, she’d changed into business attire because her scenes called for her to have escaped from a federal office building. She was wearing a pencil skirt paired with sky-high black pumps and a white shirt open to show a bit a cleavage. The effect was sexy in an understated way.
He liked the way the light caught in her dark halo of hair—which was just the right length for him to run his fingers through in the throes of passion. His body tightened.
He wasn’t one to be overcome by lust—particularly where actresses were concerned—but Chiara was just the package to press his buttons. He hadn’t been kidding when he’d said she was his type. His brothers would say he was attracted to women who were a study in contrasts: dark hair against a palate of smooth skin; humor and passion; light and hidden depths... On top of it all, Chiara was blessed with a great figure, which was emphasized at the moment by a come-hither outfit made for the big screen...and male fantasies.
He, on the other hand, was in his usual stunt clothes for this movie: a ripped tee, makeup meant to resemble dirt smeared on his abs, an ammo belt across his chest and another one slug low on his hips with an unloaded gun. He felt...uncivilized.
And the setting was appropriate. They were at the bottom of a canyon, surrounded by mountain roads and not far from actual caves. Only the presence of the Hollywood sign spoiled the effect of unspoiled nature.
> Still, he tried for some semblance of polite conversation when they came abreast of each other. Thanks to Jordan, he had a brilliant idea—one that should deal with multiple problems at once. “I have a favor to ask.”
She looked at him warily. “Which is?”
He cleared his throat. “I’d like you to appear on my mother’s cooking show.”
Her jaw went slack. “What?”
He shrugged. “If you appear on her show, it’ll feed the rumors that we’re involved. Isn’t that what you want?”
“Your mother has a cooking show?”
He nodded. “It’s on local TV in Boston and a few other markets, and it films not far from my hometown of Welsdale in western Massachusetts. Flavors of Italy with Camilla Serenghetti.”
Chiara’s lips twitched. “So you’re not the Serenghetti closest to fame? I’m shocked.”
“Not by a long shot,” he returned sardonically. “Not only is Mom ahead of me, but my brothers and sister are, too.”
Chiara looked curious. “Really?”
He nodded. “You don’t watch hockey.”
“Should I?”
“My kid brother plays for the New England Razors, and my older brother used to.”
She seemed as if she was trying to pull up a recollection.
“Jordan and Cole Serenghetti,” he supplied.
“And your sister is...?”
“The youngest, but determined not to be left behind.” He cracked a grin. “She’s a big feminist.”
“Naturally. With three older brothers, I imagine she had to be.”
