t me.” He frowned as a thought occurred to him. “So I’m Liza’s ancient employer, is that it?”
She laughed. “God, no. I didn’t mean that at all. It’s just Liza respects you so much—so does every member of your staff I’ve met here tonight—and everyone knows about your success in the film business. You’d been nominated for two Academy Awards before you even turned thirty.”
“And never won once by thirty-two,” he replied wryly.
“It’s just a matter of time,” she said warmly. “I’ve also heard how intimidating you can be. Not from Liza, of course,” she added hastily. “My point is, I doubt you’d ever be fooled by a man like Tommy Valian.”
He blinked. “Tommy V is your ex-boyfriend? The lead singer from Crime Fix?” he asked, referring to the popular rock band. “How did you ever meet him?”
She shook her head, and he had the impression she didn’t think the topic was even worthy of pursuing. “At a Broadway play one very unlucky night.” She gave him a sheepish look. “I was clearly struck stupid by fame. If you’re a fan, I hate to break it to you, but Tommy’s lyrics are about a thousand times more poetic and smart than he could ever imagine being in his finest moment.”
He saw the sparkle in her eyes, glad to see she was far, far from being in any distressing straits over the likes of Tommy Valian. He smiled full-out at the evidence. She blinked, looking startled. He waved over at the seating area he’d been using for a makeup station. “Have a drink with me?”
His smile fell when she didn’t immediately respond, and her gaze roved over the garish dressing room. Would she say no? Was she just being polite, chatting it up with her friend’s ancient boss?
He looked into the depths of her eyes. At six feet four inches, he looked down at most people. He suddenly felt like the big bad wolf, considering swallowing Red whole, and he had the distinct impression the girl was thinking the same thing . . . and was liking her thought. Another wave of simple, undiluted lust, the likes of which he wasn’t sure he’d ever experienced in his life, surged through him. Was it wishful thinking on his part, that spark of fascinated interest in her eyes? The beguiling curve of her mouth, as she smiled, was like a caress where it counted.
No. This kind of unexpected magic was rarely one-way, at least in Seth’s limited experienced with it.
“Well . . . a girl’s got to do something while she’s in hiding, right?”
He raised his eyebrows in amused agreement. She went ahead of him. He followed, leaving the door locked behind them.
* * *
“Champagne, ice water or soda?” he asked when they approached the seating area and impromptu bar that had been set up on a long table.
“Champagne, please,” Gia said, thankful Seth’s back was turned as she began the ungraceful process of sitting in the armor. The costume was lightweight, but still, she felt like a stiff-jointed eighty-year-old in it. To make matters worse, a dozen large mirrors scattered around the room were showcasing her ungainly maneuvering from every angle. Precisely how many mirrors did a person require? Zero, given the ridiculous way she looked at the moment. Just Gia’s luck, to be dressed this way when unexpectedly having a run-in with an extremely handsome, attractive man. She’d been curious about Seth Hightower ever since she’d first learned about him from Liza. He was reputed to be a brilliant artist, but also a bit of a lone wolf. Meeting the real man had amped her interest up to fascination. Her heart had lurched against her breastbone in flat-out shock when she had stood panicked in that hallway a moment ago and turned to stare into his inscrutable face.
Her favorite sculpture had come to life.
She noticed the champagne bottle looked dwarfed in his large hand. She was fascinated by his arms beneath the short-sleeved white T-shirt he wore. He had to possess the most impressive biceps she’d ever seen. He suddenly jerked to a halt while reaching for a glass. She couldn’t quite interpret the dangerous slant of his dark brows as he turned to regard her, but her heart seemed to recognize why. It leapt into overtime.
No wonder Liza thought Seth Hightower was intimidating.
“What?” Gia asked, freezing in the act of trying to prop her awkwardly armored body up against some cushions.
“Liza just turned twenty-five,” he said slowly. “How old are you?”
She stared at him in blank befuddlement. Why was he bringing up her friend’s age? A thought suddenly struck her.
“Are you worried I’m not old enough?” she asked, a grin breaking free.
“Are you?”
Somehow, his suspicion thrilled her. He’s asking if you’re of age, but not for drinking. She couldn’t swear the thought that popped into her head was true, but it certainly felt that way. Seth appealed to her in an elemental way she’d never before experienced, and she didn’t want him to find her lacking in return. Unlike Tommy Valian, Seth was in his thirties, a man in his prime, both physically and in his career and life. And unlike Tommy, when Seth had looked at her earlier, she’d felt like the exact opposite of a naïve ingénue.
“Don’t worry. I’m plenty old enough,” she assured him, repressing a smile because he was looking so fierce. He merely raised one dark eyebrow and waited. She realized he expected an answer to his question. “I told you I was Liza’s roommate in college. We’re of an age. Do you expect me to show you ID?” she teased him.
His stare bore into her. She forced herself not to blink or flinch. His tension suddenly dissipated. He turned to pour her champagne. The sound of the liquid flowing into the flute seemed unusually sensual to her. The effervescence from the bubbles seemed to transfer to her, causing a tingle of excitement between her thighs.
“Cecilia said your name is Gia?”
“Yes. Gia Harris,” she said, surprised and a little embarrassed to realize she hadn’t even thought to tell him her name.
He came toward her, holding out the flute. As he handed it to her, a small smile ghosted his lips, perhaps an apology for his former sternness. He had a very hard, very sexy mouth. It fascinated her, to see something she’d grown used to being eternally frozen now animated with life. His face was well-proportioned, bold and . . . somehow beautiful, as well, although in a thoroughly masculine way Gia wasn’t sure she’d ever experienced in real life.
He sat down on the couch, a good portion of the center cushion separating them.