Phoenix Falling Read Free

to curtsy and dance in proper eighteenth-century style.
    As she arrived at the studio, one of Hollywood's hottest young female stars was leaving the audition room. Well, she hadn't expected the competition to be easy.
    As always on such occasions, the room was full of people evaluating her as if she were a slab of overdone steak. She recognized the film's director, two producers, a famous casting director, and half a dozen executive types.
    The director, Jim Gomolko, looked as if he'd bitten into something sour when he told her to go ahead with the test scene. But she'd come prepared. Dressed in a flowing dress with a period flavor, she curtsied gracefully to the executives, using her carefully practiced French accent as she thanked them for their kind consideration.
    An expressionless male assistant fed her lines as she performed the scene where Marguerite first meets Sir Percy. She began the scene coolly, for as the most acclaimed actress in Paris Marguerite was used to men wanting to bed her. She'd learned to keep admirers at a distance.
    Yet there was something about this Englishman, a hint of steel beneath his languid manners and wicked wit. As the scene progressed she gradually realized that this was a man of surprising depths and passions, one who could keep a woman intrigued....
    When she finished her reading, the executives were nodding approval. Gomolko said, "I want you to read again with someone else, Ms. Marlowe."
    One of the suits spoke into a cell phone and five minutes later Kenzie Scott ambled into the room. Rainey caught her breath, electrified. Though Scott was rumored to be on board for Pimpernel , her agent had told her the deal wasn't set yet.
    Rainey had kept her fingers crossed because she was a great admirer of Kenzie Scott's work. And—well, of his looks, too, she was only human. But even more, she respected his acting. Though she preferred his early work, before he'd become a major star, he brought depth and nuance to even the most macho action roles.
    He looked across the room at her as if she was the most fascinating, desirable woman he'd ever seen. Every cell in her body kicked into overdrive.
    Tall, dark, and charismatic, he was almost supernaturally handsome. He was often mentioned in the same breath with Cary Grant, and not only because of his chiseled features and the faint cleft in his chin. The real similarity lay in his easy, aristocratic British charm. On screen he could project strength, intelligence, wit, vulnerability—all at once if the role called for it. Those qualities were strikingly vivid in person.
    Kenzie bowed, a perfect Georgian gentleman despite his khakis and polo shirt. "Mademoiselle St. Just, your performance tonight was brilliant."
    With a pang of regret she realized that the admiration in those amazing green eyes was because he was in character. Since he was working from memory, she slid into Marguerite. Recklessly she tossed her script over her shoulder, pages fluttering to the floor while she prayed she'd remember her lines.
    She responded to Kenzie's dazzled Sir Percy by playing the scene ardently instead of the coolness of her first reading. They were from different nations, different ways of life. To a loyal daughter of France, this languid aristocrat was all she was taught to despise, while she was an actress, a woman to be bedded, not wed. Yet they both were caught up in a blazing attraction too powerful to deny, no matter how much it cost them.
    When they finished the scene, the executives were sitting upright in their chairs. One of the producers muttered, "Jesus, who knew she was so hot ?
    Gomolko made a rueful face. "You were right, Kenzie, she's Marguerite. You've got your deal. Do you want the part, Ms. Marlowe?"
    "Yes!"
    "I'll contact your agent right away to work out the details."
    As she stammered her thanks, the room erupted with excited talk, leaving her and Kenzie in a small zone of privacy. Now that they weren't acting together, she felt shy with