Free Show Me by Carole Hart Page B

chest that showed and imagining how it would feel. Even now, she couldn’t believe it was really going to happen.
    She forced herself to make a show of attention. “His fiancée? Oh, he’s getting married?” For a moment Zaza imagined he must be marrying the blond actress from the show. She remembered Booley’s ex clamation: Lorenzo is totally faithful to Annabella! But of course Javier would already know that girl—he wouldn’t be meeting her for the first time.
    Javier was looking sorrowful, his thick black eyelashes lowered poetically. He said, “It’s his third marriage in four years. Every wife meaner than the last! This one threw her salad at his head in the restaurant right in front of me.”
    Zaza said timidly, “Was she jealous or something?”
    Javier looked at her darkly. “No, she wanted some of his french fries. He didn’t want to give her his french fries because he had asked her before if she wanted french fries and she’d said . . . Oh, it’s all too depressing to tell.”
    “Oh, well, at least you don’t have to marry her.”
    “We live in the same house.” He smiled tragically and let go of her hand. As she watched, he moved with a catlike grace to sweep the bottle of Jack Daniel’s from the floor. She was still expecting him to bend and get a glass when he raised it and swigged from the bottle itself. Then she was left with an afterimage of his movements, his body’s strength and beauty in the simple motions of stooping and raising the bottle in the air. He lowered it to his hip and caught her eye, smiling with a quiet, carnal satisfaction. Then he pointed to the bottle inquiringly. She nodded, and as she moved to join him, the director called out, “Would everyone get ready, please? It’s the bedroom scene. Take it from ‘There’s no need to be frightened.’ ”
    A thrill of fear ran through Zaza and she took the bottle from Javier hurriedly, taking a swift, burning gulp. Now she had to take off her robe. Of course, she could crawl in under the sheets and then take it off in privacy. But that seemed ridiculous; in another second everyone would see her, anyway. So she took a deep breath, handed the bottle back to Javier, and untied the robe’s belt. As it slipped from her shoulders, she felt a strange invigoration pass through her. Every inch of her skin was hypersensitive with the consciousness of exposure. Javier was watching her with an enigmatic expression as she let the robe fall to the floor.
    “You’re lovely,” he said in a comradely undertone. “Lovely. Break a leg.”
    Then she was creeping into the bed, dimly aware of all the people continuing to work around her, apparently oblivious to her nudity. She pulled the sheet up to her chin and her first line came back to her just as the director called, “Action!”
    Then Javier sat on the bed beside her, his face transformed into a diabolical mask of sly lust.
    “There’s no need to be frightened,” he said with a sinister purr. “You’re safe now, my dear.”
    “Lorenzo? What’s happening? Where am I?”
    He leaned toward her and brushed the hair back from her face. “Try to relax.”
    “What happened? Is Annabella here?”
    “Let’s not talk about Annabella.” He was stroking her cheek gently now, smiling lasciviously. “I’m not interested in Annabella anymore.”
    “What do you mean? You’re her husband.”
    “I’m not feeling very conjugal right now.” Here he leaned forward and kissed her. She struggled at first, but allowed him to wrestle her back against the pillow. When she’d read the script, it seemed incredible that this character would (as the stage directions now dictated) “yield rapidly to her passion.” But under the influence of his mouth on hers, his tongue passing over her lips, she began to do just that. When she opened her eyes, his black eyes were blazing into hers with a keen anticipation of what was to come. Then he moved to kiss his way down her neck, pulling the sheet down