Once in a Blue Moon by Kristin James Read Free Book Online Page A

else she could do to stave it off. More strenuous objections to the scene with no more reason than she had would appear strange to the writers and the producers and would probably stir up the kind of gossip she always strove to avoid. All she could do now was prepare herself—strengthen her defenses for the scene next Friday.
    * * *
    “There!” The hairdresser stepped back, opening her hands in an expansive gesture, and beamed at the reflection in the mirror.
    Isabelle looked into the mirror. Debbie had done an even better job than usual. Her hair was a sexy tangle of gleaming curls. Combined with the low-cut, clinging black cocktail dress she wore, it created the perfect image of a beautiful, wild female predator on the prowl.
    Isabelle’s hands felt cold as ice. She did not want to do this. But she said only, “You’ve outdone yourself this time, Debbie.”
    “Well, you know, your first big scene with Michael...” She grinned conspiratorially.
    Isabelle thought sourly that Michael had obviously wrapped the hairstylist around his finger. Of course, the same could be said for most of the women involved in the soap opera. Sometimes Isabelle felt like revealing to them what a heartless, self-absorbed bastard he was—but, of course, she would never open up her personal life to such intimate inspection.
    She stood and smoothed down the tight-fitting short skirt. She had to admit that Amanda had done a great job of finding just the right dress, too—devastatingly sexy without crossing over the borderline to sluttish. It was perfectly suited to her figure and also revealed a tempting amount of her long legs.
    Isabelle clutched her script, as she had all during the time she had been in Makeup and Hairstyling. The slim blue-bound book was now permanently curled up from being twisted in her hands. She set off down the hallway to the soundstage, trying to look both nonchalant and businesslike—and not at all as if her knees were quaking.
    She had worked all week to prepare herself for today’s shooting, but now that it had arrived, she found herself feeling as anxious as she had when she first learned about it. She was flushed and overheated one moment and the next, freezing. Her mouth was dry as cotton. At the moment she could not remember a single one of her lines. All she could think about was the fact that she was going to kiss Michael, that she was going to have to radiate sexual invitation toward him, to lure and seduce him and put herself right back in the danger of his arms.
    Rationally she knew that nothing was going to happen. It was, after all, a scene for TV, and it would be shot in front of a director and crew. It wouldn’t be real, and she had shot many such scenes before without a qualm. There would be no emotion in their kiss; it would be faked. Besides, there was no danger of her feelings for Michael returning. She had gotten over him years ago; there was no feeling toward him left inside her except antipathy. She was much too mature now to be conquered by a sexy kiss—not that he would even try to make it sexy. Surely Michael had no more interest than she in trying to rekindle the fire that had once burned between them.
    But all the reasonable arguments in the world couldn’t stand up against the ice in the pit of her stomach.
    She walked onto the soundstage, where the crew was bustling around making adjustments to lights and cameras. Isabelle carefully picked her way over the snaking obstacles of thick cables and cords. The set was the living room of Jessica’s condo. On the set next to it, the elegant living room of the Townsend house. They had just finished shooting a large party scene, and a few of the actors were still strolling away from it.
    Paul, who played the lawyer ex-husband of Christine Townsend, Chase Manning, caught sight of Isabelle, and his eyebrows vaulted up exaggeratedly.
    “My, my, my, don’t you look yummy,” Paul said. “You know, Izzy, sometimes I get so used to seeing you