His head tilted, mouth parting, and his tongue swept across Liam’s lower lip before he realized what he was doing.
The soft, startled sound that broke out of Liam shot straight through Jacob like live current. His chest clenched and his body moved without permission. Suddenly the kiss was rougher, hunger pulling him somewhere he hadn’t meant to go. His hand closed hard at Liam’s waist, dragging him closer until there was no space left.
Liam’s mouth opened the tiniest bit, and that small act of surrender shattered Jacob’s control completely. He pushed in, their tongues tangling in a sudden rush of heat. Liam yielded instantly, answering with small, needy sounds that went down Jacob’s spine. Instinct carried him; he couldn’t stop. There was just the insistent urge for more, and then more again.
A ragged sound tore from his throat—nothing he recognized as his own—and it startled him enough to break the kiss. He stumbled back a step, then another, dragging air into his lungs like he’d surfaced too fast.
“Cut,” Ellen said softly, her voice edged with caution.
Jacob’s hand lingered at his mouth in disbelief, then raked through his hair, the restless motion no match for the storm still raging inside him. His script slid off the chair and hit the floor as he kept his eyes anywhere but on Liam.
For the first time in years, he was rattled. He had no explanation for what had just happened—and that was the part that shook him most.
Chapter 4
Liam
Liam walked to his car as if someone else was moving his body for him, each step automatic and disconnected. The world outside the studio felt wrong. The sunlight was too sharp; the hum of traffic too loud; even the fit of his shoes felt off, like they didn’t belong to him anymore.
He didn’t stop to talk to anyone, just nodded absently when a PA mentioned they’d be in touch. One moment his keys were in his hand, the next he was behind the wheel, caught in traffic, staring blankly at the glow of a red light.
His palm dragged over his face, and the heat of his skin startled him.
That hadn’t been acting.
Except—of course it had. Jacob Wolfe was a legend for a reason. A generational talent. The kind of actor who didn’t just play a role but sank into it so completely the rest of the world bent around him. It made it impossible to tell where the character ended and Jacob began.
That’s all it had been. Ithadto be.
God, the way Jacob had looked at him. That stare that pinned him in place and made it feel like nothing else in the room existed. It had to have been orchestrated. Jacob knew exactly what he was doing, because otherwise—
No. He couldn’t even finish that thought. His fingers tightened around the steering wheel.
He clung to that explanation, listing details as proof: Jacob’s body language, the steady escalation, the exact pause before the kiss. All of it too perfect to be anything but deliberate—a masterclass. And Liam? He’d just done his job; matched the energy and fed off the moment. That was what a good scene partner did.
Sure, maybe his hands had curled, his breath had caught, and maybe his knees had gone weak for a second, but that was adrenaline. That was the scene, that was—
Jesus. His mouth was still tingling.
Then why hadn’t his stomach settled? Why couldn’t he stop replaying that rough sound Jacob made right before pulling away? Why the hell did his body still feel lit from the inside, like it had no idea how to calm down?
He stared through the windshield, lips parted, pulse uneven, the city blurring beyond the glass.
He wasn’t attracted to Jacob; he couldn’t be. He was straight and he loved his wife. This was just a blip, an anomaly. Jacob Wolfe was just that good—that’s all this was.
***
Later that afternoon, Liam walked into a coffee shop tucked between a laundromat and a dog groomer—the kind of place you only found if someone dragged you there first. The walls were lined with too many plants, the furniture was aggressively mismatched, and the scent of burnt espresso had permanently fused with the cushions. Cassie had picked it, of course. She said it had character.
Cassie Finch was already waiting, half-hidden behind a mug that looked too big for her hands and a pair of sunglassesthat had no business indoors. She was curvy, with red curls as untamed as the rest of her, and a fierceness that never wavered.
She had been in his life for more than a decade. They’d grown up in the same small town, both theatre geeks with a shared love of old noir films they were too young to understand. They survived the same high school drama club and had the same blunt refusal to give up on their dreams. She’d come to LA within a year of him, and no matter how chaotic things got, their friendship never slipped. She was sharp, unfiltered, and one of the best screenwriters he knew.
“God, you look terrible,” she said brightly as he slid into the seat across from her.
“Hello to you too.”
“I meant it in a nurturing way.” She lowered her sunglasses and studied him with narrowed eyes, the deep blue pools seeing straight through him. “What’s going on?”
