Spoiler Alert (Spoiler Alert #1)(18)
His throat bobbed as he swallowed, and she smiled encouragingly at him.
“Um . . .” His chest hitched in a tiny sigh, one so discreet she’d have missed it if she hadn’t been watching him so closely. “I like being outdoors. And, uh, I’m pretty athletic, so things like riding suit me. Fit my talents, I guess.”
Suddenly, he straightened in his chair. Flipped his hair back from his face with a practiced snap of his head. “To help strengthen my thighs, I had certain exercises my trainer suggested I do. I can tell you about those.”
Nope.
“I imagine you had to practice a lot, even if you’re naturally athletic and exercise the right way.” Barreling right past his attempted conversational misdirection, she continued pressing. “Did someone from the show teach you swordplay, or did you learn how to use a sword on your own?”
At that, he met her eyes again. Finally. “You want to hear about the crew?”
“Sure.” That might prove as revelatory as any other topic, she figured.
His mouth pursed, he gave a little nod.
“Okay.” Putting down his cutlery, he leaned forward. “Um . . . okay. Any skill with the sword I have, I owe to them.”
“How?” she asked.
Once more, she waited. And this time, the dam broke.
“From the moment I was cast, they started teaching me how to handle my sword and shield in a way that would look second nature, as if I’d been doing it my whole life.” This time, she didn’t need to ask him to elaborate. He just did, without prompting. “How to walk, how to sit, how to stand at attention. And if I look capable on-screen while fighting, that’s due to them too.”
No credit for himself. Interesting. “In what way?”
He barely hesitated. “The fight coordinators and choreographers and the stunt coordinators worked like hell to make sure each battle scene not only looked impressive, but fit each character’s personality and history and the specific goals and mindset they’d have for that particular fight. Then they’d run us through the sequences again and again, until we knew exactly what to do and when to do it.”
In other words: Yes, with their help and guidance, he’d practiced a lot.
He was very skilled at erasing his own efforts from the narrative, though. Especially for a man whose vanity was legendary.
“Some of those big battle sequences, they’d start preparing us months ahead,” he added. “Up to a year, in a few cases. Always looking ahead, always striving to make each scene convincing and spectacular and memorable.”
His blue-gray eyes were bright and intent on hers, willing her to understand the greatness of the Gods of the Gates crew, the extent of their hard work. He was gesturing with his broad hands now, punctuating his points with little waves and slashes.
It was like watching a ghost become corporeal once more. Life, where only a shadow once existed. Fascinating and disorienting, all at once.
She thought over what he’d told her. “So if they take each character’s history into account, someone like Cyprian shouldn’t fight as capably as, say, Aeneas. Because Cyprian wouldn’t be as battle-hardened and wouldn’t have had the opportunity to learn swordplay in the same way.”
“Exactly. Sometimes they’d have to tell one of us to dial back the skill a few notches.” He grinned at her, and it crinkled at the corners of those eyes in a very distracting way. “Between takes, the director would come around and ask each of us what we were fighting for in that scene. What our goal was. What had happened to us prior to that scene that would inform the moment for our character. So a battle might involve hundreds of people, but for the main actors, that scene, that fight, would also be specific. Different for everyone.”
His face was mobile with passion. So much passion and intensity and . . . intelligence.
She crossed her legs under the table. Uncrossed them.
“And that’s not even getting into all the work done by the weapons master, the sword master, the horse master, the VFX and SFX people . . .” He shook his head, his golden hair glowing in the candlelight, and she couldn’t look away. “The show has over a thousand crew members, and they’re all amazing, April. The hardest-working, most talented people I’ve ever met.”
That didn’t sound like a platitude. It sounded like a bone-deep truth.
For the first time that night, April excused herself to the restroom. Once there, she used the facilities, washed her hands, and didn’t leave immediately.
Instead, she dabbed more cold water on her wrists. The back of her neck. Only two of the many places she was suddenly much too hot, even though she knew better. She did.
She stared at herself in the mirror. Red hair. Freckles. Brown eyes behind contact lenses. Round breasts, round belly, round thighs. All normal.
Not normal: the rosy flush on her cheeks, and the slight ache between those thighs.
Because she suddenly wanted him. Marcus. Caster. Hyphen. Rupp. The dim, vain man who was, apparently, neither vain nor dim. Or at least not as vain and dim as he pretended.
He was still gorgeous, however. Still famous.
And only having dinner with her tonight out of kindness, not desire for her company or her body or anything else specific to her.
Well, shit.
GODS OF THE GATES: SEASON 1, EPISODE 3