Chapter 4: I Think I'm Going To Die Of Embarrassment

No. This can't be happening.

The sound of that deep voice makes me freeze with my hand halfway down to my ankles. I know who it belongs to even before I find the courage to glance up.

Orlando Fontaine stands just inside the tent, his sharp eyes on his assistant director. After a moment, his gaze shifts to me.

Just like before, I find myself frozen beneath those eyes. Now that I know who he is, I can really see the family resemblance. He's easily as good-looking as his brother Luca, but there's something a little more rugged about his features. Instead of the fairy tale prince, he's more like the handsome woodcutter who saves you from the witch. With eyes that seem to gaze into your very soul.

And I'm standing here with a pair of granny panties around my ankles.

I panic. I try to smile at him, and at the same time I try to reach down and grab my underwear before he can see it. But the panties get caught on one of my heels. I give them a desperate tug, still smiling as if I'm completely at ease, trying to keep from looking down and drawing any extra attention to what are by far the most embarrassing piece of clothing I own.

It almost works. With one more sharp tug, I get the panties free of my shoe, but I use a little too much force. And while this particular pair of underwear is old, the elastic waistband still has plenty of spring to it, because before I even realize what's happening, it sling-shots its way from my grip and flies across the room.

Hitting Orlando Fontaine right in the chest.

Everyone in the tent is dead silent as my sad, stained period panties fall to the ground. Orlando stares down at them with a slight frown.

And I want to die. Or at least run far, far away from this tent. And maybe hide in a bunker for a few years.

I am never, ever going to live this down.

Slowly, Orlando's eyes come up again. I straighten my shoulders, trying to pretend that I'm not the least bit embarrassed by what just happened, but that's when I remember that my new blouse is still open, baring my chest to the world.

So this is it, I think. This is when I learn that people can actually spontaneously combust from embarrassment. I'm standing half naked in front of the sexiest man I've ever seen in real life - a man who reportedly has raging hot sex with supermodels every night - in a sweat-soaked bra. While my dingy panties sit like a limp, stained rag at his feet.

And while all of this is going on, there's still enough blood flowing through my veins to remind me that it's been a little while since I've had sex, and that my body, at least, would have no complaints about fixing that with this man in front of me.

The way those golden eyes of his bore into me, I'd swear he can read every one of those thoughts. Before I can apologize, though, his lips curl into a charming smile.

"I knew she'd be perfect," he says without taking his gaze off me.

I try to ignore the tiny flutter in my chest at being called perfect. That's not a word that's used to describe me...well, ever. Except he's used it twice now.

I don't get to respond before Karen breaks in.

"Good," she says. "We'll have her out on set in a few minutes, just as soon as she's done getting dressed." She gives me a meaningful look, and I quickly begin doing up the buttons on the blouse.

"Great," Orlando says. He starts to step toward me, then stops, bending over and picking up my panties instead.

My stained, dingy granny panties are in Orlando Fontaine's hand.

"You don't have to - " I begin, but he's already moving toward me, my underwear in his grip. Anything I could say would just make this worse.

"I believe these are yours, Miss...?"

"Blankenship," I say, and after a quick and only mildly awkward hesitation, I drop my still partially unbuttoned shirt to reach out for my panties. "Maggie."

"Orlando Fontaine," he says. "But everyone just calls me Orlando around here. I prefer that we all use first names - it makes us feel more like a family." His gaze falls to my underwear still in his hand. "Very close family." When his eyes meet mine again, those golden depths are bright with humor.

Oh, God. He's laughing at me. But there's something else in his eyes, too - a simmering heat that sends shivers all the way down to my toes. Any doubts I had about those "sex fiend" rumors fly right out the window. This man radiates passion and intensity from his every pore. I feel like I might melt from the sexiness he's giving off.

Karen clears her throat, and I remember my chest is still half bare. I quickly snatch my panties from his hand and resume buttoning my shirt. I've started sweating again - attractive men always do it to me, and Orlando is turning me into Niagara Falls - but I can't do anything but pray it doesn't soak through this new blouse before my scene is done.

"We'll have her out to you in a minute," Karen tells Orlando again, and he nods and turns away. My heart nearly stops when he pauses right outside the tent and glances toward Penny, the makeup artist.

"A touch of red lipstick on her, I think," he tells her. "Not too dark, though. I like her innocence." He twists his head further, his eyes finding mine again, still shining with silent laughter and pulsing heat. I must look worried, because he winks at me. My stomach flip-flops again.

"Don't worry - we'll take care of you, Maggie," he says, and his gaze suggests that that's a personal promise. "Welcome to the set of Death and Deadly Night."