Exotic Nights

He might have told her some things, but strangely she felt as if she knew even less. But what she really wanted to know, he didn’t need words for. She wanted to know if that tan was all-over-body, she wanted to know the heat and strength of those muscles—the feel of them. Everything of him. Cosmo woman here she was.

‘I’m an actor,’ she declared, chin high.

There was a pause. ‘Ah-h-h.’

‘Ah, what?’ She didn’t like the look of his exaggerated, knowing nod.

‘I bet you’re a very good one,’ he sidestepped.

Her cosmo confidence ebbed. ‘I could be.’ Given the opportunity.

‘Could?’

‘Sure.’ She just needed that lucky break.

Now he was looking way too amused. ‘What else do you do?’

‘What do you mean what else?’ she snapped. ‘I’m an actor.’

‘I don’t know of many actors who don’t have some sort of day job.’

She sighed—totally theatrically, and then capitulated. ‘I make really good coffee.’

He laughed again. ‘Of course you do.’

Of course. She was the walking cliché. The family joke. The wannabe. And no way in hell was she telling him what else she did. Children’s birthday party entertainer ranked as one of the lowest, most laughable occupations on the earth—her family gave her no end of grief about it. She didn’t need to give him more reason to as well.

‘And how is the life of a jobbing actor these days?’ He was still looking a tad too cynically amused for her liking.

She sighed again—doubly theatrical. ‘I have “the nose”.’

‘“The nose”?’

She turned her head, offered him a profile shot.

He studied it seriously for several seconds. Then, ‘What’s wrong with it?’

‘A little long, a little straight.’

‘I’d say it’s majestic.’

She jumped when he ran his finger down it. The tip tingled as he tapped it.

‘Quite,’ she acknowledged, sitting back out of re

ach. ‘It gives me character and that’s what I am—a character actress.’

‘I’m not convinced it’s the nose that makes you so full of character,’ he drawled.

‘Quite.’ She almost laughed—it was taking everything to ignore his irony. ‘I’ve not the looks for the heroine. I’m the sidekick.’

She didn’t mention it, but there was also the fact she was on the rounder side of skinny. A little short, a little curvy for anything like Hollywood. But Wellywood—more formally known as Wellington, New Zealand’s own movie town? Maybe. She just needed to get the guts to move there.

‘Oh, I wouldn’t say—’

‘Don’t.’ She raised her hand, stopped him mid-sentence. ‘It’s true. No leading-lady looks here, but it doesn’t matter because the smart-ass sidekick gets all the best lines anyway.’

‘But not the guy.’