Taking a deep breath, I tighten my robe and head out to set. Blindly, I walk up to the giant bed. I pause to drop my robe just out of shot. I can’t be bothered to wait for an assistant. Being naked save for a tiny flesh-colored jockstrap is not the best, but I can deal. I climb onto the bed and get into my starting position. Kit joins me but I don’t have to look at him yet, so I ignore him. Pretending that his presence doesn’t overwhelm me, that I don’t want to fling myself into his arms and bathe in his body heat whilst inhaling his manly scent.
Filming begins and I go through the motions just fine until it’s time to look at him. Reluctantly, I lift my gaze to his. He is leaning over me while pinning my arms above my head. His naked chest is scant inches from my own. How this meets Mother’s insistence that I’m not depicted as the bottom, I don’t know. But whatever. I just do as I’m told.
Kit’s brown eyes are warm, intense. Filled with so much love, desire and tenderness, that I feel it in my soul. My heart skips, my stomach flutters. My eyes water. I want this to be real so much that it hurts. Really, physically hurts. I want him. I don’t want to be alone anymore. I need him to love me.
A lone tear escapes from my eye and rolls down my cheek. Kit lowers his head and kisses it away. It’s not part of the planned choreography, he is going off script. ‘It’s just Abe loving Cain,’ repeats over and over in my head like a frantic mantra. My body pays it no heed. My back arches off the bed as my body seeks his touch. Craves his caress. A soft, needy moan seeps out of my throat. I’m leaving our directions far behind too.
“Cut!”
“Hold your positions boys.”
I stare up at Kit. I hate that he has the power to do things to my body and make me lose control. His face is inches from me. His near naked body hovering over every part of mine. It’s intimate. It’s awkward. A cruel mimic of everything I desire. I hate it.
I can’t read his expression but I can tell it’s conflicted, turbulent. At least he is not entirely unmoved. It’s a cold comfort.
“I don’t care what the director says,” I snarl. “If you ever improvise during a sex scene with me again, I’ll castrate you!”
His eyes widen. He looks hurt, horrified, mortified. He swallows and nods. Shame flushes his cheeks.
Guilt snakes its way through me. I’m the one who stopped following directions first, with my stupid tears. Blaming him is harsh, but it’s too late to take it back now. I just pray he thinks my crying was merely top-notch acting. He can’t ever know what a pathetic, broken mess I am. I can’t stand the thought of giving him the satisfaction of knowing I’m pining for him. My pride is the only thing I have.
“Fantastic work boys!” calls the director.
I knew he would say that. It hadn’t been acting on my part at all. It had been raw, soul deep, heartfelt emotion. It’s bound to look good.
“Let’s move onto the next scene.”
Kit jumps away from me so fast that it looks like a blur of movement my eyes can barely track. He strides away, out of sight, without so much as a backward glance. I sit up on the bed and rub my wrists, chasing the echo of his touch.
I can’t wait for this day to be over.
Chapter twenty-one
Kit
“Kit!Mr.Pritchardishere!” squeals the producer excitedly.
I groan inwardly, before being moved into position to greet the Studio CEO. We are lined up like we are about to greet royalty, and I’m so not in the mood. The only thing I want to do is get out of my costume and go talk to Mackenzie. I’m not even interested in the wrap party, even though I’m probably going to have to go.
I normally love parties, especially when I’m one of the VIPs. But it all seems so shallow and vain, when I have seriously crossed the line with Mackenzie. It was completely out of order to lose focus during our sex scene. It’s not his fault his acting is so superb that my very soul believed he wanted me. I know better. I should have been able to resist. He is hotter than hell and I have zero will power, but that is no excuse for getting lost in the moment and doing something that wasn’t agreed. It goes against all sorts of consent.
I swallow dryly. I know intimacy is difficult for him, which makes this even worse. It makes me so ashamed to have betrayed him like that. I really hope he will listen to my apology.
Mackenzie is ushered into line next to me but now is not the time or place to talk. We need to be alone for that. But I still take strange comfort from having him so close to me.
Mr. Pritchard walks in and shakes the producer’s hand and then the director’s. His attention turns to me, as the next in line, and his dark eyes glitter. He is an older man. Well groomed and whip thin. And damn, if he keeps undressing me with his eyes like that, I’m going to catch a cold. What a creep. I’m very glad he wasn’t here earlier, watching the sex scene.
His hand shake is overly firm and he grabs my arm with his other hand in a show of dominance. This man has clearly read ‘How to get ahead with body language’ books. I give him my best grin and will him to go away.
His attention turns to Mackenzie, and I instantly clench my fists. If the look Mr. Pritchard was giving me was pervy, the way he is looking at Mackenzie is positively predatory.
“Long time no see, Mackenzie,” drawls the CEO.
Mackenzie gives him his beautiful smile and shakes his hand. Mackenzie is standing pretty close to me but he inches even closer. I can feel him trembling.
I blink as my mind processes. Mr. Pritchard has been CEO of the studio for decades. It’s one of the top studios in Hollywood. Mackenzie must have worked with him when he was younger. The puzzle pieces slot together with disgusting certainty. Mackenzie’s quip about knowing how to do blow jobs because he was a child star, repeats over and over in my ears as a white hot rage descends.
“What’s wrong with you?” hisses Mackenzie under his breath.
