It was a terrible idea, obviously. She shouldn’t even consider it. She definitely shouldn’t think about his hands, how she could practically feel how warm they’d be through the thin cotton of her shirt—or better yet, underneath it. She shivered, praying he didn’t notice.
It was bad enough that she was entertaining the thought tobegin with, made even worse by the fact that she knew exactly how it would all go—how good it would be—if she wanted to.
No, not if she wanted to. If she let herself.
She realized with a jolt that she was still staring at his hands, so she forced her gaze north, snagging on his mouth for a beat too long.
The mouth she’d kissed hundreds of times. That had murmured filthy secrets in her ear. Traced every inch of her body.
The same mouth that had hurled insults, taunts, accusations. Twisted in scorn. Smirked at her misfortune.
Lilah choked out a disbelieving laugh, hoping the dim lighting camouflaged her burning cheeks. “You’re not serious.”
“Why not? I’ve tried just about everything else to get you out of my system.” He said it playfully, but there was an edge of genuine frustration to it that made her heart stumble in her chest.
She fought to keep her tone neutral, conflicted about whether to play along. “We’ve already tried that, too, remember?”
His gaze never left hers, his voice low and gravelly. “I can’t fucking forget it.”
Lilah swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. With effort, she broke the spell of their eye contact, glancing down at her shoes before her willpower eroded completely. She took a deep, ragged breath, then shook her head, meeting his eyes again. “We can’t undo the last eight years. It’s too late, the damage is done. Antagonizing each other, being constantly at each other’s throats…it’s toxic. Dysfunctional.”
At the mention of throats, Shane glanced down at hers, and he took another step forward. Her pulse fluttered as he brought one hand to her neck, fingers sliding smoothly across the nape,thumb coming to rest along the bottom of her jawline. She felt like she’d forgotten how to breathe.
He slowly leaned down to the other side of her face, his beard rasping against her cheek, his voice low.
“I think you like having me at your throat. Sometimes.”
She was grateful she was against the wall; otherwise she wasn’t totally sure she’d stay upright. She knew for sure she wouldn’t have a second later, when she felt his lips brush the pulse point behind her ear. She inhaled sharply, and his grip tightened on the back of her neck, just for a second.
Too soon, he pulled away again. She expected him to look smug about getting such an easy and obvious reaction out of her, but he seemed flustered, too, like he was fighting for control of himself. He slid his hand out of her hair and dropped it back to his side, and she followed its path with her eyes without thinking.
If she hadn’t, she wouldn’t have caught the brief, involuntary shake of his fingers before he turned and descended the rest of the stairs without another word.
15
Once the season began airing and the flurry of press surrounding the premiere died down, Shane quickly fell back into his normal routine, the next several weeks passing in a blur.
He’d been worried his encounter with Lilah on the stairs would make things even more awkward between them. When he’d slid into the chair next to hers in the makeup trailer a few hours later, he’d expected her to greet him as usual—that is, not at all. Instead, she’d glanced at him, raised her eyebrows for a split second, then turned back to the mirror, a hint of a smile on her lips.
It was like someone had opened a release valve, heading off the inevitable explosion just in time. Their therapy sessionshelped, but that wasn’t all of it. Maybe it was because he’d given a name to it at last, acknowledging out loud the connection that still sizzled between them like a live wire. They seemed able to relate only in extremes, either all over each other or each pretending the other one didn’t exist. It made sense that, now that they’d finally started to work though their issues, they’d inevitably swing back toward the other end.
He hadn’t really meant it, though. Like all their games, it was about trying to get her to blink first, admit something she’d rather hide. He told himself that even if he hadn’t forcibly removed himself from the situation, it still wouldn’t have gone any further—even though she’d been looking at him like she wanted to devour him whole.
But she was right. There was no way to undo the years of backbiting, sniping, and petty revenge they’d inflicted upon each other.
Probably.
In late October, they began prep to shoot the biggest episodes of the season, a moment nine years in the making: the climactic two-parter where Kate finally regains her corporeal form, culminating in a passionate kiss between her and Harrison. They’d be traveling to Vancouver for three weeks to shoot it, and, in something of a coup, it would be guest directed by Jonah Dempsey, the twenty-four-year-old wunderkind whose premium cable show,Head Case,had swept the Emmys the year before.
Shane wasn’t sure it was necessary.Intangiblehad never been known for its directorial flair. Like most network shows, it was helmed by a small rotating group of regulars who were valued more for their ability to stay on schedule than their visual panache. But, like the location change, it was meant to send a message: these episodes were a Big Fucking Deal.
As the Vancouver shoot drew closer, the prospect of the kiss loomed large, casting a shadow over everything else. Their personal baggage aside, kissing someone onscreen was an unpleasant experience more often than not. It was tough to get lost in the moment with half his mind focused on how it would look from the outside, and the other half trying to ignore the dozens of people crowded around watching.
He wanted to believe it would be the same with Lilah. But if he was being honest with himself, he couldn’t say there had ever been a time he’d kissed her without feeling anything.
The night before his flight, Shane dawdled around his room, throwing T-shirts and jeans into his open suitcase.
“Can I take the BMW tonight?”
