Chapter 34 So Very Meta
SO VERY META
RIPLEY
I don’t know what to do with my face.
I stand on a stone pathway edged by Hidcote plants, wearing a wide-brimmed hat like the heroine in Someone Else’s Ring wears in this scene.
Sam and some of the other guys are holding up light meters and diffusers as they check the lighting.
Meanwhile, I’m smiling like my cheeks are held up by clothespins.
“Whoa. Are you in the pic now, boss?”
Cyrus walks among the bushes, heading my way, shielding his eyes from the morning sun, his floppy hair falling on his hand.
“No. God no,” I say. Do my words sound as awkward as my body looks?
“You sure? Because it looks like you’re doing a movie.” His tone is playful.
“I am not in the movie,” I say crisply.
Sam looks at Cyrus with surprised curiosity. “How did you know it was her and not Haven?”
Cyrus frowns at the AD like are you really asking the question. “Dude.”
“I mean it, mate,” says Sam. “You can’t see her tats from where you are.”
Cyrus chuckles. “I mean, it’s not hard. She looks like the one in awkward family photos who doesn’t know how to pose.”
I seethe at my employee. “Cyrus, you want to keep your job, I presume?”
He laughs harder. “You like me too much to fire me, Rips. I make you laugh,” he says, but then turns serious.
“Also, idea. It just came to me. I’m going to need your autograph now, ’kay?
Damien can make a screen print of it and put it on a T-shirt.
He’s gonna start making a new line of tees.
Darling Springs—the Canada of California shirts. ”
I blink. “Really?”
“No lie. Because a lot of films are shot in Canada,” he says helpfully, but I knew that.
“Right. That’s just very, very meta.”
Cyrus shrugs, smiling. “That’s us. My dude and I are very meta. Anyway, you game for it?”
“Maybe.” I can’t focus on potential T-shirt fame while I’m sweating. Is it the lights making me hot? The sun? The attention? How does Haven handle this? The spotlight is too much. I want to hide in the lavender maze.
I stand like a newborn foal for another few minutes as they check settings on meters and cameras and Banks watches from a distance. When Tabitha heads down the pathway to the cluster of crew members, I jump on the chance of freedom. “Is Haven’s stand-in coming back tomorrow?”
“Let’s hope it’s only a twenty-four-hour stomach bug,” she says.
Uh-oh. That’s not good. I steal a glance at the edge of the Hidcote where Banks is watching the scene with some amusement.
But mostly intensity. He keeps turning his focus back to the gates of the farm.
Several of his security guys are working.
A couple of trailers are set up by the white picket fence—including Chris’s, though he’s in makeup too.
The street is closed today for the shoot, so there aren’t any photographers here. At least, none I can see.
This also means my shop is closed to the public for the next little while when they shoot scenes at the farm, but I’ve still got deliveries going out, and Cyrus and Ramona have plenty to do around the farm. I just have to hope that online interest continues to grow thanks to the buzz from the film.
My gaze lands on Banks again. His arms are crossed.
He’s wearing aviator shades. His black polo is nice and snug against his chest and abs.
Bodyguard couture is seriously hot. Good thing he’s twenty feet away.
This way, I can ogle him, but the distance makes keeping this secret thing between us pretty easy.
“Almost done,” Sam says reassuringly as he adjusts another setting on a camera.
“Happy to help,” I say, though what I mean is thank god.
“You’re a trouper,” he says, laid-back and chill until Vega, the director, strides over a few seconds later, her phone pressed to her ear.
“Tell me something. Why on god’s great green earth would Carlisle’s stand-in have the stomach bug too?” A pause as she holds up a stop-sign hand. “Wait. I don’t even want to know. We’ll find someone else.”
Vega ends the call and scans the group, presumably hunting for a suitable stand-in. She moves past Sam, then Arjun, the guy from New Jersey with the undercut, then a gaffer who’s on the short side. She spins in slo-mo, finally finding Banks at the outskirts of the fields.
She cups her hands around her mouth. “You. You’re tall,” she says. “You’re big. You look like you work out too. Can you be our stand-in for five minutes?”
He clears his throat. “I’m security, ma’am.”
She gestures wildly to the gates. “And your team is doing a great job, including Wanda,” she says, since Haven’s bodyguard is patrolling the grounds today as well.
With a reluctant sigh, Banks walks over to me.
So much for keeping our distance in public. My too-sexy bodyguard is standing inches from me. Close enough that the aftershave he wears, soapy and woodsy, is going to my head.
“Next to her. Put an arm around her,” Vega says, taking my focus from the scent.
Nope. That’s a lie. That scent is going to my panties. So much for not touching. Or letting on. Since the second his arm slides around my waist, I’m trembling. I swear, I need to stop being Silly Putty in his hands.
“Closer,” she says. “This is a kissing scene.”
I blink. “W-what?”
Vega must realize she sounds pushy since she changes her tune. “Don’t worry. You don’t have to kiss. We don’t make stand-ins kiss.”
That’s not even the issue, but I can’t think about issues when Banks curls his fingers around my waist like he’s claiming me.
My skin heats up. My shoulders rise and fall.
I’m dying here as the man I’m pretending I’m not having a secret, stolen romance with isn’t turning me on in front of a whole camera crew.
As they hustle around the lawn, Banks’s fingers tease at my waist.
“You’re impossible,” I mutter out of the side of my mouth, but it’s more like a murmur.
“Did you say irresistible?”
“Now just turn toward each other,” Vega says.
I gulp.
We shift, and those dark-chocolate eyes hold my gaze as he tosses a casual question the director’s way. “Like I’m going to kiss her, right?”
“Yes, exactly,” she says as Banks leans the slightest bit closer, earning some praise. “You’re a natural. You really look like you’re about to kiss her.”
The corner of his lip twitches. “Guess I’m a good actor.”
It’s said to her, but he’s looking at me with such passion we know he’s not taking home the statuette tonight. And we shouldn’t be doing this—we are playing with fire—but not being with him while pressing so tightly against him feels impossible.
“Now, can you wrap your arms around his neck?” Vega asks in her good cop voice.
I comply, my hands circling Banks, my fingers brushing against the ends of his hair.
A whimper falls from my lips as I touch the man I want.
It’s like the rest of the crew disappears, and it’s us in the lavender fields, escaping for a stolen kiss—since I’m rising on my tiptoes and brushing my lips to his.
When I let go, everyone’s clapping. “That was perfect,” Vega says, with a quick clap. “You went the distance, and I’m so appreciative. We have what we need.”
They let us go, and I hastily excuse myself, beelining for the cottage, away from everyone.
I shut the door and move to the wall next to it. I try to catch my breath, waving a hand in front of me to cool off. A minute later, Banks is here, opening the door. He doesn’t say a word—just hauls me against him and devours my lips.
It’s a wild, frantic kiss that will lead to one place only.
Before I know it, I’m up against the wall, shorts off, panties gone. After he grabs a condom, Banks is thrusting into me, fucking me hard and mercilessly, just the way I like it with him.
I’m panting and moaning, my noises growing louder with each pump of his hips.
“Banks,” I murmur.
“Quiet, sweetheart. Don’t want everyone to know you’re fucking the stand-in.”
“No. The stand-in is fucking me,” I correct.
“Damn right he is,” Banks says, then covers my mouth with his big hand. “Quiet.”
My eyes widen as I nod, urging him to clamp his hand tighter.
He holds my hip tight, too, his fingers leaving marks as he drives into me until I lose my mind, falling apart in his arms. A few seconds later, he follows me there with a bitten-off groan.
We slump against the wall, sweaty and panting.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m grabbing bouquets of flowers for my morning delivery. I like this stand-in life very much.