For our last scene of the day I wore a sheer black t-shirt with faux leather bands that wrapped twice around each bicep with another at the collar, and faux black leather pants. I was barefoot, my features had been played up with dark makeup, and my hair was slicked back.
I was Dark.
Lior emerged after me and I had to look away for fear that every thought in my mind would read on my face. She was devastating in a sheer shimmering white gown with bell sleeves and a faux white leather strip that ran down the center of her, from bust to mid-thigh where the dress then split, revealing the bare skin of her legs. She wore a long platinum wig, and the makeup around her eyes and at her temples sparkled.
She was Light.
“Are you blushing?” she whispered as we moved into our places. We were facing off, arms and fingers spread as if pressing each of our elements toward the other.
“I might be,” I said, keeping my eyes on hers even though other parts of me were begging to skim downwards.
“But you’ve seen me in all states of dress today, Graham,” she said, her voice low and breathy. “You’ve even seen me wet.”
I knew she was alluding to earlier scenes we’d done when we’d both been doused with water, but the way she said it made it sound distinctly like she was referring to a different kind of wetness. And now I was blushing. And she… she was flirting.
Chapter 22
Lior
What. Was. I. Doing?
Flirting, apparently. Even though I didn’t flirt. That wasn’t me. I never gave men an opportunity to know I was interested, because that would mean giving up information, and I liked to keep my information private. “Don’t show your cards too soon… or ever,” was another one of my mother’s mottos. It had served me well over the years when it came to men and friends who really weren’t friends. And yet here I was, going against my own rulebook with Graham Hot-as-Fuck Forrester.
Dear floor, please open up and swallow me whole. I have lost my damn mind.
What was it about this guy? A half hour ago I’d been pissed at him. Sure, his explanation tracked. And sure, he was gorgeous, but I’d been around tons of gorgeous men. It was a byproduct of my career. Maybe it was because he was a writer. Maybe I somehow felt like I knew him. Like I’d seen into his soul through his beautiful prose and all-consuming stories. Or was it because of the time we’d spent together lately, and seeing him as an actual human being had endeared him to me? Was it all of those things combined and seeing him here today, in my environment, dressed and undressed, sexily unkempt and then shaven and cropped, had unhinged something I’d kept carefully locked down for years?
Fuckity fuck. Where was Addie when I needed her.
No, on second thought she’d be no help. She’d be rooting for this.
“Jerk,” I mumbled to myself.
But oh… the sight of his body had done something to me. The feel of his skin against mine… My insides squeezed deliciously and I involuntarily tightened everything – primal need shooting through me like the lightning I’d been dressed as earlier. I hadn’t had sex in a long time, despite what the public thought. If not for my trusty vibrator, I’d probably have closed up shop down there. And while my small arsenal of sexual toys had gotten me through, there really wasn’t anything like human touch. I pictured Graham’s hands… his long, capable looking fingers and?—
“Lior?”
Fuck’s sake, get a grip.
I took in a deep breath in an effort to clear my mind. Graham was outside my dressing room calling me and I was still only in my sports bra.
“Yup?” I said casually, poking my head out.
As bummed as I was that they’d sheared him, he looked like a god all clean shaven, his hair cut short around the ears and nape, the front swept casually to one side.
“Do you have plans after this or do you maybe want to go get a bite to eat?”
He was asking a lot of me. I’d just gone through the spectrum of emotions, capped off by spending hours seeing his body in all forms of undress – except completely undressed – and now he wanted me to sit across from him and pretend I hadn’t and wasn’t thinking naughty thoughts?
“As long as we go somewhere sweatpants acceptable,” I said while inwardly berating my lack of resolve.
“Deal.”
He disappeared again and I wanted to kick myself for showing up for the shoot dressed like a slob like I normally did. He looked gorgeous in faded jeans and a fitted black t-shirt. Maybe I’d keep some of the makeup on to offset my unkempt aesthetic? Or would anyone notice if I stole some clothes? I’m sure I wouldn’t look strange walking the streets in tulle and chains – this was Manhattan after all.
Though Daniela might mind her designs getting ketchup dripped on them.
Finally dressed, I moved to the vanity and began wiping at my face, removing the shimmer and foundation and swapping white mascara for black. I added a touch of lip gloss, grabbed my purse and hurried out the curtain door to find Graham standing off to the side waiting for me. My breath caught at the sight of him.
