I steadfastly avoid eye contact. Liz is not only my best friend, but she’s also perceptive as hell. The second I open my mouth she’ll know something happened. And frankly, I have no idea how she would react to yesterday’s shenanigans—in a way, wediddeal with the issue, like she asked us to, but something tells me our course of action wasn’t what she had in mind. It’s practically impossible for me to keep something of this magnitude from her, but I know I have to, for now at least. Boundaries and all that. So I summon all my acting skills—the real ones, not the terrible shit I’ve been pulling out for this movie so far.
“Everything went great! I think today is going to go really well! It’s all sorted!” Instantly, I know that was way too upbeat, but I force a fake grin and practically run away from her as soon as the kitchen is in sight, scurrying behind the counter where Deidre waits to explain how to fake bake cookies.
Grayson joins us a few moments later, and damn, he looks good. He’s wearing worn jeans and that blue sweater that’s the exact color of his eyes. And the apron Deidre hands him should make him look ridiculous, but instead, it’s the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.
Deidre gives us a quick rundown before heading back to her perch behind the camera next to Liz.
“Hi.” The word dances from his lips over the shell of my ear, and given the way my body responds, you’d think he just recited a goddamn sonnet.
“Hi.”
He grabs the spatula, drumming it on the counter while we wait. “You feeling okay? About yesterday?”
I want to yank the spatula out of his hand, but I stymie the urge after realizing the drumming sound is loud and distracting and the perfect cover for this conversation. “Yeah. I’m good.” I chance a glance at him. There’s nothing weird or creepy in his gaze. I let out a breath. “I just really want today to go well, you know?”
He leans in just a smidge, and his hand, hidden by the counter, slips underneath my sweater to trace along the small of my back. “It will.”
And god help me, I believe him.
From the moment Liz calls, “Action!” it becomes clear that he was right. Nothing pisses me off more than Grayson West being right, but in this case, I’d happily shout it from the rooftops.
I feel the difference immediately. Grayson delivers his lines with these weird things called feelings and emotions. And those feelings and emotions allow me to also express feelings and emotions, ones other than anger andfrustration. The chemistry zings between us, and by the looks on the crew members’ faces when Liz calls cut, the shift is clearly noticeable.
We do a few takes, but for once, it’s not because we’re screwing up and are attempting to turn out something bordering on salvageable. Instead, we get to do several to be sure we get the best possible iteration of the scene. And then Liz lets us loose to shoot some more B-roll, and the air around us lightens to pure champagne bubbles.
At one point Grayson leans over and licks a drop of frosting from the tip of my finger, and I almost have a spontaneous orgasm. The heat in his brilliant blue eyes lets me know he’s just as affected as I am, and I curse myself for limiting us to just one time.
But even though the experiment clearly worked, I still feel good about my decision. We can’t risk it again. Having sex once with no strings is totally doable; more than once veers into the danger zone of someone developing feelings. And although I clearly could never develop feelings for one Grayson West, I don’t know that the same can be said for him. Then he’ll end up with a broken heart, which might have sounded appealing at one time, but now just makes me feel kind of sad, actually.
So instead I have fun with him—smearing flour on his cheek and stealing the cookies Linda prebaked for us—but when we are dismissed for the day, all I offer is a small smile and a wave goodbye.
I duck out of the kitchen quickly, not needing to be trapped with Grayson and most definitely needing to avoid Liz and the questions I know she has for me. As much as she was delighted by our performances today, I could tellfrom the look in her eye that she knew something more was up than colleagues finally acting cordially. I shuck my costume quickly and practically sprint to my room.
Which I soon realize was a mistake. Because as lovely as my room is, the big four-poster elephant in the room is the bed where yesterday Grayson fucking West gave me an orgasm to end all orgasms. Two, if you want to get technical. And although the fireplace is lovely, it is not nearly lovely enough to distract me from replaying yesterday’s events in my mind. Over and over and over.
My skin suddenly feels too tight for my body, and I know I need to get out of this room fast, before I make a dumb decision. A big dumb naked decision.
I grab my purse and throw open the door, intending to march right down the hallway and out the front door of the inn to spend the afternoon somewhere else, anywhere else.
What actually happens is that I throw open the door and march two paces across the hall and knock on the door of one Grayson West.
Before I can fully formulate what I want to say to him, he’s standing in front of me. Leaning against the doorjamb. Wearing jeans. Wearing only jeans.
Words escape me, so I simply place a hand on his bare-naked, rock-hard chest, shove him back inside the room, and jump into his arms like we’re onThe Bachelor.
“Hi,” I say as I work my fingers into his hair.
“Hi,” he says as he walks us over to an armchair, his arms firmly latched under my butt and holding me up. “I thought we agreed on only one time?” The question rings false because he pairs it with a searing kiss.
“Two times. We’re doing this two times.” I gently yank on his golden waves so I can nibble on his neck. “And only for the sake of the movie.”
“Whatever you say, Harper.” He sinks into the armchair, simultaneously removing my sweater, which is a smooth move, even for him.
I kiss a trail up his throat, brushing my lips over his. “Say that again.”
“Not a chance.” His hand slides up my back, grasping onto the nape of my neck and bringing my mouth to his.
I pout against his lips. “You’re no fun.”
