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of nerves just thinking about working with Eric Terrell. She considered him so far out of her league, both personally and professionally, that she’d had trouble visualizing herself as his on-screen love interest. Now she couldn’t even recall what he looked like. The man who came to mind was Garrett Stokes. Maybe it was the knowledge that he was the real deal—the Green Beret who’d experienced everything in the script firsthand. He was the one Helena Vanderveer had risked everything for, including her life…and her heart.

    Unwillingly, her gaze slid over him. He’d changed out of his wet clothes and now wore a loose-fitting shirt made of some gauzy, breathable material over a dry pair of cargo pants. But even the casual clothing couldn’t disguise his wide shoulders or flat stomach, or hide that his was a leanly muscled physique. He exuded a raw sexuality that turned a woman’s thoughts to hot, potent kisses and bone-melting orgasms. Despite knowing him less than an hour, Ivy realized she wasn’t at all immune to those insidious thoughts.

    She wondered what it would be like to be pressed against all that hard warmth. He’d said every woman responded differently to a man’s touch—as if he was an expert on the subject. How would she respond to his touch, to his hands on her body and his mouth on her skin?

    As though sensing her wayward thoughts, Garrett smiled at her, a slow, knowing smile that caused her breasts to tighten and heat to swamp her midsection. If that was how he’d looked at Helena Vanderveer, no wonder the missionary had torn off her clothes and jumped into the guy’s sickbed with him. Ivy felt hot color sweep up her neck to her face, but she was helpless to drag her eyes away from him.

    “Hey, you must be Ivy.”

    Startled, Ivy turned to see an attractive woman in a turquoise sarong smiling at her. Her red hair was an artful disarray of curls, captured in an oversize clip at the back of her head, and her green eyes were elongated by an expert sweep of black eyeliner. She had such an open, friendly face that Ivy couldn’t help but smile back at her. The other woman extended her hand.

    “I’m Carla Ricci, and I’ll be doing your makeup.” She gave Ivy an appraising look. “You have great bone structure, and your eyes are amazing, but we’ll have to do something with the hair. A little conditioner, and you’ll be all set.”

    Ivy grimaced and self-consciously put a hand to her head. “We got caught in a downpour, and I haven’t had time to do anything with it,” she explained.

    “Oh, yes, I heard. You and Mr. Military Badass over there.” She rolled her eyes meaningfully in Garrett’s direction. “He wanted to drive into Veracruz to pick you up at the airport, but Finn needed him here, instead. I expected the guy to go completely Rambo when he found out you were taking the public bus in.” She shuddered. “You poor thing.”

    “It wasn’t that bad,” Ivy lied, “except that I lost my luggage.”

    Carla put a conciliatory hand on Ivy’s arm. “I heard.” She cast a sympathetic glance at Ivy’s outfit. “If your suitcase doesn’t show up and you need something to wear, come see me. I have some little dresses that would look totally hot on you, and it would teach Denise a lesson, the little bitch. She’s just worried that Eric will find you more attractive than he finds her.”

    Surprised, Ivy couldn’t help but give a small bark of laughter. “Me? Oh, please. I’ve seen the women Eric Terrell is attracted to, and I’m pretty sure I’m not up to those standards.”

    “Are you kidding?” Carla shot her a look of astonishment. “When’s the last time you stood in front of the mirror, sweetie? You totally have a young Julia Ormond look going on, all sweet and sexy at the same time. And those curls are to die for.” She caught an errant ringlet on the end of her finger. “Most women would kill for hair like this.” She winked at Ivy conspiratorially.