Taming Her Hollywood Playboy. Emily Forbes

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       PROLOGUE

      ‘TOTO… I’VE A feeling we’re not in Kansas any more.’

      The familiar phrase from The Wizard of Oz popped into Oliver’s head as he sat in the all-terrain vehicle surrounded by nothing but red dirt. The heat in the vehicle was stifling but he knew it was worse outside. He could see the shimmering mirage of the heat as it rose off the baked land. A trickle of sweat made its way down his back, sliding between his shoulder blades as he looked out of the window and wondered what he was doing at the end of the earth.

      He wasn’t in Kansas, and he sure as heck wasn’t in Hollywood either. Hollywood was clean and tidy, ordered and structured. A lot of the work on movie sets in today’s world was done indoors, with air-conditioning and green screens, and any dirt, gore, murders, blood and disasters were manufactured. Here the dirt and dust and heat were all too real. Too authentic. It made him wonder about everything else—the murders, blood and disasters—it was too easy to imagine all kinds of skulduggery occurring in this seemingly endless land.

      He shrugged his shoulders; they were sticky under his clothing as he returned his focus to the task at hand. He’d always had an active imagination but he was sure he’d be able to handle this place—it was only for six weeks. The dirt and dust would wash off at the end of the day, he was used to a certain level of discomfort in his job, and he certainly wasn’t precious—although the heat was a little extreme, even for him. It had a thickness to it which made breathing difficult, as though the heat had sucked all the oxygen from the air. It felt like the type of heat you needed to have been born into, to have grown up in, to have any chance of coping with it. Of surviving.

      It must have been well over one hundred degrees in the shade, if there was any shade. The place was baking. Hot, dry and not a blade of grass or a tree in sight to break the monotony of the red earth. The landscape was perfect for the movie but not so great for the cast and crew. Adding to Oliver’s discomfort was the fact that he was wearing a flame-retardant suit under his costume in preparation for the upcoming scene. But it was no use complaining: he asked to do his own stunt work wherever possible and he was sure his stunt double would be more than happy to sit this one out.

      The sun was low in the sky but the heat of the day was still intense. He closed his eyes as he pictured himself diving into the hotel pool and emerging, cool and fresh and wet—instead of hot and sticky and dripping in sweat—to down a cold beer. He would love to think he could have the pool to himself but he knew, in this overwhelming climate, that was wishful thinking; he’d just have to do his best to avoid sharing it with any of the single women from the cast or crew. He didn’t need any more scandals attached to his name. His agent, lawyer and publicist were all working overtime as it was.

      He started the engine as instructions came through his earpiece. It was time to capture the last scene for the day’s shoot.

      The stunt required him to drive the ATV at speed towards the mountain range in the distance. A ramp had been disguised in the dirt and rocks that would flip the vehicle onto its side for dramatic effect. The whole scene could probably be done using CGI techniques and a green screen but the film’s director, George Murray, liked as much realism as possible and he had chosen this part of the world for filming because of its authenticity and other-worldliness. It was supposed to be representing another planet and Oliver could see how it could feel that way. He had grown up all around the world but even he’d never seen anywhere that looked as alien and hostile as this.

      The setting sun was turning the burnt orange landscape a fiery red. The shadows cast by the distant hills were lengthening and turning violet. He knew the dust thrown up by his tyres would filter the light and lend a sinister aspect to the scene.

      He waited for the call of ‘action’ and pressed his foot to the accelerator. The vehicle leapt forwards. He waited for the tyres to gain traction and then pushed the pedal flat to the floor. The ground was littered with tiny stones, making it difficult to maintain a straight course. He eased off the speed slightly as the vehicle skidded and slid to the left. He corrected the slide without difficulty and continued his course but, just as he thought he’d succeeded, there was a loud bang and the steering wheel shuddered in his hands.

      He felt the back of the vehicle slide out to the right and he eased off the speed again as he fought to control it, but the tail had seemingly picked up speed, turning the vehicle ninety degrees to where he wanted it. To where it was supposed to be. He let the wheel spin through his fingers, waiting for the vehicle to straighten, but before he could correct the trajectory the vehicle had gone completely off course. The front tyre dropped into a trough in the dirt and Oliver felt the wheels lift off the ground.

      The vehicle began to tip and he knew he had totally lost control. All four wheels were airborne and there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t fight it, he couldn’t correct it, and he couldn’t control it.

      The ATV flipped sideways and bounced once. Twice. And again.

      It flipped and rolled and Oliver lost count of the cycles as the horizon tumbled before him and the sun’s dying rays cast long fingers through the windshield.

      Had he finally bitten off more than he could chew?