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shadowed with jetlag, and one of them did look slightly bruised, but the amber depths were as intoxicating as whisky. His hair, the deep, dark burnished gold of ancient coins, waved past his collar – even longer than hers – a remnant of the period piece he’d recently wrapped. Allie wondered if he’d worn a wig for the role, but having seen him up close and very personal the night before, she knew that glorious mane was all his. 
    Mason had always had a sort of Gatsby-esque elegance, but with the longer hair and his unshaven cheeks he looked both cultured and just slightly disreputable.
    And more attractive than any man had a right. 
    “To paraphrase Milan Kundera,” he murmured “there are no minor roles, only minor actors.”
    And he was no minor actor. He was, in fact, a veritable star. On the verge of breakout success when she’d first met him, his latest role had catapulted him into the limelight, as well as numerous “most eligible” lists and the gossip columns of tabloids. Pictures of him – some in character, some not – were plastered all over social media sites, despite the fact that the movie hadn’t even been released. His love life had become the subject of rampant speculation.
    Not that she’d been internet stalking him, or anything.
    When Bran cleared his throat, Allie realized that she was still staring. 
    “Something wrong?” Tommy called down from the stage, and she took the opportunity to turn back around.
    “Why don’t we take five?” Bran suggested.
    “Excuse me,” Allie murmured during the general milling about that followed. The heat seemed suddenly unbearable, and she needed air.
    “Allison.”
    She pretended not to hear him. Feeling a flush suffuse her face, she hustled toward the open side door.
    “Allison, wait.” 
    That was so not going to happen. She’d thought herself prepared to see him again – she was going to be coolly polite, utterly urbane and nonchalant – but she’d counted on at least two more months until D-Day. Instead, she’d found herself naked and half-hysterical in his bed, and not in a good way.
    “Allison.”
    There was a stand of trees behind the theater. If Allie could just make it to the path before he caught up to her, she might be able to lose him in their sheltering darkness.
    His legs being much longer than hers, she could hear him closing in on her.
    Abandoning pretense, she ran.
    The spring air rushed past her, cooling her burning cheeks even as her heart pumped and her muscles heated. She felt perfectly ridiculous, but she couldn’t seem to stop. The urge to step out of her skin and run – anywhere – had been so much a part of her life over the past year and a half that it seemed somehow right to be putting it into action.  Her sandals slipped on her feet, so she kicked them aside and kept going.  She barely felt the small sticks and leaves beneath her soles.  The sense of embarrassment, of vulnerability faded, and she felt… liberated. Powerful. Free.
    She tripped over a tree root.
    As she went sprawling, face-first, into a clump of saw palmettoes, Mason came up behind her.
    For the space of several heartbeats there was no sound apart from her labored breathing. Mason, damn him, didn’t appear to be winded at all.
    Since she couldn’t lie here all night, pretending he hadn’t seen her, she sighed and rolled over. It was dark here in the trees – which had been the general idea – but a shaft of moonlight speared through the canopy, illuminating him like a spotlight.  Even nature recognized him for what he was: a natural-born star.
    A natural-born star who was currently biting the inside of his cheek.
    “If you laugh, I will kill you and feed you to an alligator.”
    His aborted grin fell away and he scanned the ground, suspicious. “Alligator?”
    “Big reptile, sharp teeth?”
    “Yes, I’m familiar with the description, thank you.” He hesitated, then moved a step closer, stretching out a hand. “Perhaps we