It Was Only a Kiss - By Joss Wood Page 0,23

handed over gratefully. Ready meals, when bought in quantity, were quite heavy, and she was happy to sacrifice her feminine principles to get the feeling back in her hands.

‘Hi, Luke.’ Jess hugged Sbu, greeted the rest of the crew and then spoke. ‘Good to see you, Sbu. Did you get my rough storyboard?’

‘Mmm.’ Sbu shoved his hands into trendy cargo pants. ‘Not that it means anything, Jess. You always change stuff halfway through.’

‘For the better,’ Jess reminded him.

‘Can’t argue with that,’ Sbu replied. ‘Are you ready to get this show on the road?’

‘Nearly. I need to put some stuff away, and Luke needs to change.’

Becca’s exquisitely plucked eyebrows pulled together. ‘What’s wrong with his outfit?’

‘Everything,’ Jess replied. ‘He looks like someone playing at farming, and that’s not what I want. He’s got to look the part and he doesn’t in that outfit.’

‘Thank God,’ she heard Luke mutter.

‘That’s the most casual outfit I brought!’ Becca protested.

Jess shrugged. ‘Sorry, but it doesn’t work. I’ll be more specific in the future.’ Jess looked at Luke. ‘Let’s dump these groceries and get you out of those clothes.’

Jess lifted her hand as Luke’s mouth twitched in amusement.

‘Don’t even go there...’ she muttered in a voice only he could hear.

* * *

‘This wouldn’t be happening if you’d used a model,’ Luke grumbled as he followed her upstairs to his bedroom.

‘I’m afraid it would. I’m obsessively detail-oriented. I’m an absolute pain in the ass to work for and a relentless perfectionist.’

‘Control freak, are you?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘It would be fun to watch you lose control, Blondie.’

At his comment, Jess swung round and caught his eyes on her butt. He didn’t make any effort to look contrite or apologetic and, damn it, she appreciated his...appreciation. Instead of feeling insulted she felt warm and feminine, and a little coy.

‘Are you going to watch my butt the whole way up the stairs?’ she asked.

‘Absolutely...as it’s in front of me it would be a crime not to,’ Luke answered as they resumed climbing. ‘So, are you just going to film me pruning the vines today?’

Jess explained that they were going to film him riding his dirt bike over the lands, pruning the vines and walking.

‘Oh, joy,’ Luke muttered sarcastically.

Jess sent him a sympathetic look over her shoulder. His eyes held a mixture of impatience and frustration and, more than either of those, a degree of insecurity that she hadn’t suspected he felt. He was stepping out of his comfort zone and handing over control and he didn’t like it. Jess empathised. If they’d asked her to prance around her business and smile for the camera she wouldn’t be Miss Suzy Sunshine either.

She hated not being in control.

Jess stopped, put her hand on the railing and turned to look at him. For the first time since she’d met him she didn’t have to tip her head to meet his eyes as she was two steps higher than him. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘if you’re uncomfortable with anything we do, just shout. Sbu and I need you to be as natural and relaxed as possible. If you’re not then the camera will pick it up. So talk to me. I’ll do anything I can to make this process as easy as possible for you.’

They reached the top of the stairs and Luke guided her into his bedroom. It was a good-sized room, Jess noted, with a king-sized bed. It desperately needed colour, Jess thought, being a study in neutrals. Beige curtains, cream linen on the hastily made bed... And then the painting on the wall caught her eye. It was of the vineyards of St Sylve in a swirling mist, with just the impression of buildings in the background. Jess just stared at the painting for a long time, caught up in the mystery, movement and the sheer magic of the art.

And she fell in love...with the painting and with St Sylve. It was inexplicable, but the painting smacked her in the emotional gut. She was an artist’s daughter, but she’d never reacted to a piece of art as she had to this one. It was a massive canvas, nearly two metres square, but the scene was intimate and she felt as if she wanted to step into the frame.

‘Jess?’

‘Oh, I love that.’ She eventually spoke, stepping forward to kneel on the bed and make out the signature in the bottom left corner. ‘Who painted this? It’s fantastic.’

‘My mother.’

‘You mother was an artist? My dad is an artist!’ Jess told him. ‘I wonder if they ever met.’

‘Not