Page 6 of A Star is Scorned

He didn’t have to wait long for an answer, because there she was. Miss Olivia Blount. Or, he supposed he should call her Liv de Lesseps.

“You little liar,” he muttered, suppressing a grin that he felt turning up the edges of his mouth.

He didn’t know whether he was more irritated or amused.

Her eyes met his in the dressing room mirror.

He pitched his voice up several octaves in imitation and gave it a ridiculous breathiness that he was well aware sounded nothing like her.

“‘Oh, I don’t go to the pictures very often. I’m more of the literary type.

’ Literary type, my arse. That was some act you put on last night. ”

Liv, Olivia—whatever the hell her name was—had the decency to blush and look down at her feet, causing her wig, which had to be at least a foot and a half high, to tilt dangerously forward on her head.

Connie, confused by Flynn’s sudden outburst, had frozen in the doorway while Evelyn, the best costume designer on the Evets lot, scrambled to catch the wig and right it on top of Olivia’s head.

Evelyn’s mouth was full of pins, and Flynn winced, hoping she didn’t accidentally swallow one of them.

But Evelyn was an old pro when it came to mishaps during fittings, and the wig was quickly back where it belonged with no harm done.

Evelyn faced him and put her hands on her hips. “Flynn Banks, Miss De Lesseps has been in Los Angeles for less than forty-eight hours. Yet somehow, you’ve already slept with her?”

“Absolutely not,” Olivia scoffed, while Flynn simultaneously rolled his eyes and said, “She should be so lucky.”

He and Olivia met each other’s eyes once more in the mirror, and they broke out laughing together, dispelling the tension in the room.

“Miss Blount…er, De Lesseps, helped me out of a sticky situation last night, that’s all,” Flynn explained. “Though she needn’t be so disdainful at the idea of having spent the night in my bed.”

He winked at her. He expected her to blush again, but instead she held his gaze and lifted one eyebrow at him, as if she was assessing him with her intoxicating violet eyes and finding him wanting.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Banks, it wasn’t disdain. It was repulsion.”

Connie and Evelyn broke out in peals of laughter as Flynn’s jaw dropped in shock.

“You should see your face,” Connie choked out in between laughs.

He glared at her. “Haven’t you got my costume to fetch or something?”

Connie rolled her eyes and swept into a mocking bow, backing out of the room still giggling. He could hear her all the way down the hall.

Flynn was used to two reactions from dames.

Either they swooned at the sight of him, or having once swooned at the sight of him, they hollered at him until they were red in the face.

But disdain? Indifference? Outright disgust?

Never. Who was this woman, and where had Harry Evets found her?

And why was he suddenly possessed with the urge to know every detail of her life—from the name of her first pet to her greatest heartbreak to the story of how she skinned her knee climbing a tree as a kid?

Because he was certain Olivia Blount was the type of girl who skinned her knees climbing trees. He could tell these things.

Instead, he asked a more pertinent query. “Why didn’t you tell me who you were last night?”

She shrugged, careful to move only her right shoulder as to not disturb her wig. “You flustered me, jumping in my car like that.”

“Yes, but you pretended you’d never heard of me.”

“Mr. Banks, you practically hijacked my vehicle to escape an angry former paramour. You are rumored to be the biggest lothario in Hollywood—”

“That isn’t a rumor,” he growled, but he was dismayed to discover that his wolfish tactics didn’t disturb her glacial sense of calm indifference.

“That may well be.” She winced as Evelyn tightened the laces on the corset they were fitting. “But I’m new here. I didn’t want to spend the night before my first day on a picture dodging your unwanted advances.”

“Honey, I never make unwanted advances. That’s not my style.” The nerve of this woman. Making him out to be a mustache-twirling villain. He was a cad, not a creep.

“A girl can never be too careful.” Olivia pronounced this with the guilelessness of an innocent maid. But something more dangerous sparked in her eyes. He liked it. Probably a little too much.

“You’re one of those refrigerator dames, huh?”

“Yes,” she replied tersely. “And you’re not the guy to defrost me. I came to Hollywood to do a job, not to be romanced.”

Flynn didn’t know whether to gape or laugh at her biting comeback. She was a sharp one. It was damnably attractive.

Evelyn took a step back and admired her handiwork. Olivia was in period undergarments, a corset tightened over a frilly slip and pantaloons that fell just above her knee. Women regularly wore less to go to the beach, but something about the costume was absolutely lascivious on Olivia Blount.

“There now, that’s the underthings,” Evelyn muttered, while tightening and marking a few places on Olivia’s person with stickpins. “I’ll get the gown.” She followed the path of still-absent Connie out the door of the fitting room.

Flynn used the opportunity of Evelyn’s exit to prowl toward Olivia. If she wanted to make him out to be some kind of predator, fine. He’d give her full jungle cat.

Olivia didn’t break his gaze, instead lifting her chin an infinitesimal amount and staring him down, daring him to try it.

“You said you don’t go to the pictures,” he growled as he stalked in her direction. “Is that true?”

“No. I’ve seen a few. Here and there.” Her lip quivered as she answered, and he had to hold back a laugh. She was a good actress, but he’d wager this girl had seen more than a few pictures.

“‘Here and there,’” he mockingly imitated her. “And tell me, have you ever seen a Flynn Banks picture?” He leaned his head over her shoulder, whispering into her ear.

“I honestly don’t remember. If I have, they weren’t among my more memorable outings to the cinema.

” She held his gaze as she looked forward into the mirror.

But her voice wavered, not with the feigned breathy trills of women pretending to be fools for his supposed benefit, but with a nervousness that belied her haughty demeanor and hinted at naughty things.

Flynn knew with absolute certainty that she was lying.

“Mm-hmm. I see.” He was nearly pressed against her now, but she had neither moved nor put any space between them.

In fact, he could’ve sworn she’d just edged closer to him.

“Why, pray tell, would you want to be in a Flynn Banks picture then? It hardly seems like an interesting endeavor for a girl of your…intelligence.” He hissed the last word into her ear and reveled in the flush of red that crept up her neck.

He watched Olivia shiver, following the involuntary reaction as it made its way down her body and sent her knees quivering in her frilly, lace-edged pantaloons.

She locked her knees and snapped her gaze back to his in the mirror.

He raised his eyebrows, silently asking her a question, and she stuck her tongue out at him.

It was unexpected and elicited a short bark of laughter from him.

The move made her wrinkle her nose in a way that he found ridiculously adorable.

He was generally drawn to women whom he found sexy, inviting, seductive.

Adorable was for kid sisters and bunny rabbits.

But suddenly, Olivia’s flavor of adorable seemed quite tantalizing.

“Needs must.” She croaked out the words before clearing her throat and continuing. “A Flynn Banks swashbuckler would hardly have been my first choice. But the studio decides the picture, not me. Even Joan Davis had to make some stinkers before she won her Oscar.”

Flynn choked back a laugh. He’d have to tell Joan that later.

Of course, this woman admired Joan. He recognized the same fire and curiosity in her that his best friend Dash’s wife had in spades.

But Olivia’s was softer, more genteel, more…

innocent. “Ah, so you do know the pictures then. If you know Joan Davis.”

He leaned his chin on her shoulder, and she shrugged him off in a move he could only describe as a harrumph. “Of course I know Joan Davis. She’s a great actress.”

He slid in front of her and sat on the ledge of the vanity in front of the mirror, his knees practically touching the tops of her thighs. “But I’m not a great actor… Is that it?”

She bit her lip and studied him, mulling something over, but then she squinted and shook her head. “Now, Mr. Banks, how would I know, considering I don’t remember whether I’ve ever seen one of your pictures? But my guess is that you could be a good actor if you didn’t let your ego get in the way.”

“My ego is not as big as you think it is.”

She gave a pointed look at his crotch, and he realized a moment too late that he’d opened himself up for further ridicule.

He jumped up off the dressing room counter and spluttered, “That’s not what I meant.”

She laughed—a warm, resonant sound that made his heart beat a little faster. “Mr. Banks, last night you were incredulous at the thought that I’d never seen one of your pictures.”

“I was surprised, that’s all. I’ve been the number one box-office star three years running.”

She closed her eyes and inhaled, as if he was trying her patience.

“Your box-office success aside, you’re telling me this little exchange we’ve just had isn’t about soothing your wounded ego?

When I suggested your advances might be unwanted, you tried to seduce me.

Or have I misunderstood your intentions?

Was this he-man act of yours about something other than proving that you’re irresistible? ”

He tried to think of a witty retort, but their exchange was cut off when Evelyn came back with an enormous mass of taffeta and ribbons in tow.

She was followed by two more wardrobe assistants.

Only Evelyn’s eyes were visible over the mounds of the dress.

Awkwardly trying to fit through the narrow doorway, she told Flynn, “Connie is ready for you down the hall.”

“Good,” he snarled, and cursed himself for sounding like an absolute prig.

He stomped his way out of wardrobe, shoving his hands in his pockets.

He was nearly out the door when he turned back to face his costar.

“Miss De Lesseps, you may have a point about my ego. But if I ever try to seduce you, I can assure you, there will be no question as to my intentions.”