Poppy Harmon and the Pillow Talk Killer by Lee Hollis (most read book in the world .txt) 📕

Bear, Jack emerged from the lake near the cabin like a Navy Seal, the knife between his teeth, muscles flexing, ready for action. He crawled on the ground so as not to be seen, taking point outside the cabin’s kitchen window, where an eagle-eyed Daphne spotted him. He signaled her to be ready while she was preparing a pot of hot coffee for her captors and now was the time for the final confrontation.

The director didn’t bother to discuss the scene with the principals since they had done it so many times. He just dropped down in his director’s chair waiting for camera speed and lethargically called, “Action!”

Pam, determined to win an Emmy for her bold turn as a malevolent bad girl, stormed over to Poppy and grabbed her by the arm, snarling, “What’s taking so long with that coffee, sweet cakes? Are you harvesting the beans yourself, or what?”

Poppy shook her arm free. “I think we’d all be a lot happier if you tried a little decaf, sweet cakes.”

Butch and Smitty snickered at the joke, which infuriated Pam/Bloody Mary.

Pam glared at Poppy, grabbing her arm again and squeezing it tight. “Get cute with me, and you can get hurt, got it?”

There was a knocking sound outside the cabin.

Smitty, alarmed, jumped out of his chair. “What was that?”

“What?” Butch growled.

“That noise. Somebody’s out there!” Smitty cried.

“Relax, will ya? Nobody knows we’re here,” Butch sighed.

“I’m tellin’ ya, Butch, I heard something,” Smitty insisted.

“Fine, if you think there’s somebody out there, go check it out for yourself then,” Butch said, tossing him a gun, which Smitty fumbled on the catch.

“Careful,” Smitty whined. “I nearly shot my toe off.”

Butch ignored him.

Smitty huffily marched over to the door and swung it open. Standing there in all his Rambo glory was Jack, who struck with a punch in the face. Smitty doubled over and Jack kneed him in the groin. Smitty flopped down to the floor, writhing.

Butch, now alerted, struggled to stand up as Jack dove at him and they rolled around on the floor. Pam started for the gun Smitty had dropped and that was Poppy’s cue to hurl the scalding pot of hot coffee at Bloody Mary, drenching her. Pam covered her face with her hands, spasming and screaming, like a true Method actress. After a brief scuffle, Jack managed to finish off Butch so the only two left standing were Jack and Daphne.

“Oh, Jack!” Poppy exclaimed, like she had so many times before, and ran to Jack where he embraced her, holding her tightly against his bare chest, muscles glistening.

“It’s okay, Daph, I’m here . . .”

“And cut!” the director said listlessly. “Great. Moving on to coverage.”

Now they would repeat the scene multiple times for different angles and close-ups, at least another two or three hours of work.

Jack still held Poppy tightly against his chest.

“He said cut, Rod, you can let go now,” Poppy said.

“Do I have to?”

Poppy giggled, then wanted to kick herself. Really? Did she have to giggle like a high school cheerleader in the arms of the star quarterback? It was downright embarrassing.

“When are we finally going to go for that drink, Poppy, just the two of us?” Rod asked, grinning.

“Oh, please, you are such a tease,” Poppy scolded as she tried to extricate herself from his embrace, which caused him to just hold on tighter.

“Haven’t you made me wait long enough?” Rod asked, fake pouting. “Come on, don’t you find the scent of my manly sweat irresistible?”

Poppy scrunched up her nose, laughing.

He finally let go when the stunt coordinator approached him with a note on the choreographed fight scene with Butch.

Poppy tried not to stare at him.

Bloody Mary suddenly appeared at her right shoulder. “He’s dreamy, isn’t he?”

The question didn’t surprise Poppy. She was very well aware of the fact that millions of women found Rod Harper to be breathtakingly sexy, but she was not about to let on that she was one of them. “Who, Rod? I think of him like a brother.”

“You’re kidding,” Pam said, a disbelieving look on her face. “You two have never hit the sack?”

“No, absolutely not,” Poppy said.

“Well, I’ll be sure to let you know what you’re missing.”

“What do you mean?”

“He asked me out this morning. We’re getting together at his place later after we wrap. I’m so excited to see his house. I hear Humphrey Bogart used to own it before he married Lauren Bacall.”

Pam pranced off excitedly, leaving Poppy behind, standing on the set alone. She kept a firm smile on her face, but she was devastated, and after the director announced a fifteen-minute break while they reset the scene, she slinked back to her dressing room, hoping that until she was finally alone, she would not cry.

Chapter 18

Poppy was halfway back to her dressing room after wrapping for the day, eager to shed Daphne’s tightfitting costume specifically designed to accentuate her curvaceous figure, don some casual street clothes, and head home to unwind with a long luxurious bubble bath and a glass of Chardonnay, when she was intercepted by Rod. He managed to corner her in the hallway of the cavernous soundstage, and stood so close to her she could smell his pungent body odor from all the running and brawling he had done in the scene they had just shot. She couldn’t help but crinkle her nose slightly. Rod picked up on it immediately.

He lifted his arm and sniffed. “Yeah, I know, I’m a little rancid and need a shower.” Then with a lascivious smile, he added, “Care to join me?”

Usually she would just laugh off his suggestive comments, but today she was in no mood to do so. “Not today, Rod.”

She made a move to circle around him, but he quickly stepped to the right, blocking her path. “Come on, it’s been a long day, for both of us, why don’t we freshen up and meet for a drink to wind down?”

Poppy gave him a puzzled look. “Tonight?”

Rod nodded. “My treat. How about the Roosevelt, in