Page 89 of Lucky Star

Sarah stiffened next to me. This hadn’t been on the expected list of questions my agent had emailed earlier in the day. Her reaction wasn’t so much that he’d asked the question; rather, that he’d asked me on her behalf. While she was standing right there. As if she didn’t have a voice of her own.

Despite my annoyance, I put on my mask and laughed at the question. “Well, since she’s right here, I’m sure she’d be happy to tell you.”

“Oh, right,” James stammered, and then turned his microphone to Sarah. “Tell us, what was it like knowing your husband had to film such graphic material?”

Sarah swallowed and when she answered, you would have thought she’d been the one to go through media training instead of me. Unless, of course, you counted the years she’d worked for Broderick as a crash course in what not to say in Hollywood.

Turning on the charm, she tinkled out a sly laugh. “You forget James, I used to work for Broderick. I read the script well before Cameron, and I knew precisely the sort of scenes he’d have to film. But the truth is, I’ve been a fan of the book for many years.” Sarah wrapped her arm in mine and leaned closer, subtly signaling there was no discord between us, and that the idea of me making simulated love on camera didn’t faze her at all.

No one needed to know that Shanna had brought Sarah to set each day we’d filmed one of the ten arduous scenes in question, and that half of the cuts Broderick had used where the camera was zoomed in on my face, my eyes had been glued to my wife’s, not Jillian’s.

Undeterred, James continued his line of questioning. “And having your husband writhing naked with his co-star didn’t bother you?”

Sarah looked him dead in the eye. “Have you ever been on set when a love scene is being filmed?” When James shook his head, she continued. “It’s the least sexy thing you can imagine. There are scores of people milling around, telling them where to angle their bodies for maximum impact, how to breathe, where to look, what to show, what to cover. So no, even though Jillian is an extremely beautiful and charming woman, I wasn’t bothered at all.”

Turning to me, James asked his final question as someone from the PR team whispered in his ear that he needed to wrap things up. “Cameron, you must love having a wife so well versed in the inner workings of Hollywood. How has being married to an insider changed your approach to acting?”

I glanced down at Sarah and smiled adoringly. “I wouldn’t be here without her.” A flash bulb went off at that precise moment, capturing for posterity the love I felt for the woman who’d always been by my side.

* * *

If you enjoyed LUCKY STAR, you might also like NOT QUITE PERFECT, the first book in my Rocky Cove Series. It features a heroine with trust issues and the sexy professor who breaks down all her walls. Keep reading for a sneak peek of this sexy, funny story that gives new meaning to what it means to be a family.

Chapter One

Victoria

I stepped onto the ferry,my overnight bag bumping along behind me, and dropped into a seat toward the rear of the boat. I fluttered my sticky shirt against my overheated skin—if there was anything I hated more than going to my mother’s sixth wedding, it was the thought of doing it in temperatures that had soared to ninety-plus degrees with no break in sight.

But that was a problem for tomorrow.

Tonight, I had to avoid running into my older brother Theo. Difficult, since my brothers and I were all staying at the same inn. Silently, I cursed the bet we’d made the month before. How Theo had known our mom was close to walking down the aisle again was beyond me. But he had, and he’d used that knowledge to swindle Drew, Alex, and me out of a few hundred dollars each. As far as I was concerned, he’d cheated, and I had no intention of paying up.

Hence, the avoiding.

What I couldn’t avoid, however, was the fact that my book club was meeting on Tuesday evening and I still hadn’t read this month’s selection. Why we’d decided to enrich our minds instead of our libidos, I’d never know. Oh right. Something about how being able to confidently discuss the classics would make us better people.

Cringing, I reached into my purse and pulled out an old, battered copy of The Sound and the Fury. Of all the great American novels the discussion leader could have picked, she’d chosen the one I’d hated the most when I’d studied it in college.

My eyes scanned the weathered pages, taking in the notes I’d scribbled in the margins. Normally, I didn’t defile books in such a way, but following Faulkner’s stream-of-conscious narrative had been nearly impossible at eight o’clock in the morning on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays during my junior year.

I liked to think I was older and wiser now, but as I flipped through the pages, skimming the text, I still had trouble following the disconnected timeline. I shook my head when I reached the end of the first chapter. No doubt about it, my understanding of the story hadn’t improved with age or wisdom.

“Fucking Faulkner,” I whispered, my tone laced with disgust.

“Only one of the greats,” came a deep, rumbling voice from across the aisle.

I inserted my bookmark and turned to face the stranger, my breath catching in my lungs.

His lips were hitched to the side in a small grin and his bright blue eyes were alight with laughter. He canted his head toward my book. “But I’m guessing you don’t agree.”

I struggled to find the words to respond—not a problem I typically suffered. As a journalist, words were my bread and butter. Unfortunately, they’d deserted me when I’d come face-to-face with the most handsome man I’d ever laid eyes on. He had thick, wavy, brown hair and a sexy five o’clock shadow that dotted his strong, chiseled jaw. His eyes were deep pools of indigo that I imagined myself getting lost in. And his lips? Well, I wouldn’t mind finding out how soft they were.

If I were Cinderella and my fairy godmother had just granted my wish for the perfect man, he would have been it.

I cleared my throat and set my book to the side. “Can’t say I’m much of a Faulkner fan, which was probably obvious when I cursed his name.” I smiled sheepishly. It was one thing to fling insults at a dead author, but an entirely other thing to have someone witness you doing it.

He shrugged, his right shoulder lifting and then falling carelessly. “You either love him or you hate him.”

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