Instead of dumping the drink, he downed the whole thing in one swallow, wincing at the burn.
When he found Zahara again, she tilted her head as if to say, What are you doing over there?
Michel, the film’s director, joined her group. Zahara smiled and kissed his cheek. Michel said something that made everyone laugh. He should go over and schmooze. Kiss up to Michel and open a conversation about future roles. But Chase wasn’t interested in socializing tonight. At least not with anyone but Zahara. He decided to wait until she was in a more private situation to approach her.
The instant he saw Phoebe, his costar in the film Chilled headed toward him, Chase regretted that decision.
“You finally made it.” She stepped directly into his personal space and curved a hand around his arm. Then she pushed up on her toes. Chase realized she was going to kiss him on the lips, and at the last second, he turned his head just enough for her lips to brush past his own and land on his cheek.
“I finally made it,” he said.
Phoebe frowned at him. “Chase, seriously? After having our tongues down each other’s throats in the film, you can’t give me a proper kiss?”
The comment was so Phoebe, taking an awkward situation and making it worse.
“That was Michel,” he said, referencing the film’s director. “He’s all about si
zzle on the screen.”
She smiled and ran her fingers under the lapels of his blazer and rubbed up against him. “Come on, you had to feel something. We should explore it. Come to my place after the party?”
No way in Satan’s inferno of hell. “Sorry, Phoebe, that’s not going to happen.”
“What’s not going to happen?” Zahara’s voice startled Chase. A minute ago, she was across the room, fully involved in conversation. Now she stood to his left, her shoulder against a marble pillar.
“Nothing,” came out of Chase’s mouth before he could finesse it.
Phoebe harrumphed and shot him a pouty scowl, then turned away.
All his muscles relaxed. “Thanks,” he told Zahara. “I owe you one.”
She just smiled. And, God, she looked so stunningly perfect standing there, openly, charmingly, sexily grinning at him. Up close, she was even more beautiful. On the set, she only wore makeup when a scene called for it. Wore leggings and a tank top unless she was in costume to double Phoebe. But somehow, he’d known this side of her before he’d ever seen it. He’d known her chocolate eyes would pop with a little mascara. Known her lips would glisten with a little gloss. But the whole effect, her hair, her dress, the light that burned inside her, made him a little light-headed. Or maybe that was the alcohol taking effect. All Chase knew was a streak of white-hot desire burned a direct path from his heart to his gut.
“Damn,” he breathed. “I didn’t think you could get any more beautiful.”
“Thank you. You always look great.” She stroked her hand down his chest, then pulled back. “So, what’s next for you?”
You. I hope.
Though the topic and her tone both indicated she had her walls up again. The intimacy they’d shared during the stunt just hours ago was now tucked away in some secret space.
He struggled a moment, trying to decide on whether to call her on it or let it go and ease back in another way.
“Next,” he said, deciding on the latter. “Well, I’m meeting with my agent next week. He says he’s got a few possibilities. I have a few acting workshops lined up to fill the gap until something new comes along.”
“Are the workshops with anyone fun?”
“One with Glenn Close.”
“Glenn’s great,” she said, reaching out and sliding her fingers down the line of buttons on his dress shirt. An absent-minded move on her part, but one that zinged awareness along the path of her touch. “You’ll love her.”
“Another week with Samuel Jackson.”
“Oh my God.” Her gaze came up, and the sparkle in her dark eyes charmed him. “He’s amazing. You’re going to laugh your ass off.”
He shook his head. “You know everyone.”
“Not everyone.”