Hollywood Baby Affair. Anna DePalo

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      Rick stopped in front of her. No one was around. They were near the actors’ trailers, far away from the main action. Luckily she hadn’t run into him after her talk with Odele two days ago. Instead, she’d managed to avoid him until now.

      Dusk was gathering, but she still had a clear view of him.

      He was in a ripped tee, jeans and body paint meant to seem like grease and dirt, while she was wearing a damsel-in-distress/sidekick look—basically a feminine version of Rick’s attire but her clothes were extratight and torn to show cleavage. And from the quick perusal he gave her, she could tell the bare skin hadn’t escaped his notice.

      “So you need a boyfriend,” he said without preamble.

      She itched to rub the smug smile off his face. “I don’t need anything. This would be a completely optional but mutually advantageous arrangement.”

      And right after this conversation, she was going to have another serious talk with her manager. What had Odele signed her up for?

      “You need me.”

      She burned. He’d made it sound like you want me.

      “I’ve been asked to play many roles, but never a stud.”

      “Don’t get too excited.”

      He grinned. “Don’t worry, I won’t. I have a thing for the doe-eyed, dark-haired look, but since Camilla Belle isn’t available, you’ll do.”

      The flames of temper licked her, not least because he was clued in as to her Hollywood doppelgänger. “So you’ll settle?”

      “I don’t know. Let’s kiss and find out.”

      “If the cameras were rolling, it would be time for a slap right now,” she muttered.

      He caught her wrist and tugged her closer.

      “This isn’t a movie, and you’re no actor!” she objected.

      “Great, because I intend to kiss you for real. Let’s see if we can be convincing for when the paparazzi and public are watching.” He raised his free hand to thread his fingers through her hair and move it away from her face. “Your long dark hair is driving me crazy.”

      “It’s the Brazilian-Italian heritage,” she snapped back, “and I bet you say the same thing to all your leading ladies.”

      “No,” he answered bemusedly, “some of them are blondes.”

      And then his mouth was on hers. If he’d been forceful, she’d have had a chance, but his lips settled on hers with soft, tantalizing pressure. He smelled of smoke from the special effects, and when his tongue slipped inside her mouth, she discovered the taste of mint, too.

      She’d been kissed many times—on-screen and off—but she found herself tumbling into this one with shocking speed. The kiss was smooth, leisurely...masterful but understated. Rick could double for any A-list actor in a love scene. He touched his tongue to hers, and the shock and unexpectedness of it had her opening to him. As an unwritten rule, actors on-screen did not French kiss, so she was already in uncharted territory. The hard plane of his chest brushed against her, and her nipples tightened.

      Think, Chiara. Remember why you don’t like him.

      She allowed herself one more second, and then she tore her mouth away and stepped back. For a fleeting moment she felt a puff of steam over his audacity. “All right, the screen test is over.”

      Rick curved his lips. “How did I do?”

      “I don’t even know your last name,” she responded, sidestepping the question.

      “I’ll answer to anything. ‘Honey,’ ‘baby,’ ‘sugar.’” He shrugged. “I’m easy.”

      “Clearly.” This guy could charm his way into any woman’s bed. “Still, I’d prefer your real one for when the police ask me to describe the suspect.”

      He grinned. “It’s Rick Serenghetti. But ‘darling’ would add the appropriate air of mystery for the paparazzi.”

      Serenghetti. She knew an Italian surname when she heard one. “My last name was originally Ferano. You know, Italian.”

      His smile widened. “I’d never have guessed, Snow White.”

      “They used to call me Snow White, but I drifted,” she quipped. “Not suitable for the role.”

      “No problem. I’m not Prince Charming. I’m just his body double.”

      She wanted to scream. “This is never going to work.”

      “That’s why you’re an actress.” He looked curious. “And, Odele mentioned, a beauty contestant. Win any titles?”

      She made a sour face. “Yes. Miss Congeniality.”

      He burst out laughing. “I won’t ask what your talent was.”

      “Ventriloquism. I made my dummy sing.”

      “‘Some Day My Prince Will Come’?”

      “Nothing from Snow White! I was also Miss Rhode Island, but obviously that was on the state level.” She’d gone on to be a finalist in Miss America, which was where she’d earned her title of Miss Congeniality.

      “Rhode Island is the smallest state. Still, the competition must have been fierce.”

      “Are you mocking me?” She searched his face, but he looked solemn.

      “Who, me? I never mock women I’m trying to score with.”

      “Wow, you’re direct. You don’t even like me.”

      “What’s like got to do with it?”

      “You have no shame.” When it came to sex, she was used to men wanting to bed anyone in sight. This was Hollywood, after all.

      “Is it working?”

      “Nothing will work, except Odele convincing me this is a good idea.”

      Rick frowned. “You mean she hasn’t already?”

      It took Chiara a moment to realize he wasn’t joking. “Please. She may have persuaded you to go along with her crazy scheme, but not me.”

      “I only went along with it because I thought you’d said yes.”

      Chiara watched Rick’s dawning expression, which mimicked her own. “I believed you’d agreed.”

      “Stuntmen are made of sterner stuff.” He threw her attitude right back at her.

      Chiara realized they’d both been tricked by Odele into believing the other had agreed to her plan. Rick had dared to kiss her because he thought she’d already signed up for her manager’s plot. “What are we going to do?”

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