“No. Grayson, no. God no.” I cup his cheek in my hand, relishing the scratch of his beard against my palm. “Do you really think I’m ashamed of you?”
“Maybe.” He shrugs and pulls his eyes away from mine, like he can’t stand to look at me. “And I would get it, if you were. You’re smart and talented, an accomplished writer who has won all these awards, and I’m what?”
“The Sexiest Man Alive?” I mean for it to come out as ajoke, but I can immediately tell by the way his shoulders tighten that it’s the exact wrong thing to say.
“I am that, yes.” He hunches over like a weight is pressing him down.
I step closer into his space, taking his hand in mine and lacing our fingers together. “You are that. And you are much, much more than that. Grayson, I thought I’d made it clear the other night just how impressed I am by you. By all of you, not just this absurdly delicious physique you’ve got going on.”
That earns me a hint of a smile.
“You did. And I know you meant it. I guess it’s just different when other people start weighing in on your relationship. And I’d understand if that scared you away.” His fingers tighten around mine.
I turn his cheek so he’s forced to look me in the eye. “I wasn’t totally joking when I asked if we’re in a relationship, you know. It’s not like we’ve ever really talked about it, other than when we agreed to being costars with benefits.”
He turns his head, kissing the palm of my hand. “Safe to say that restriction is out the window.”
“Most definitely.” I rise onto my tiptoes and plant a soft kiss on his mouth, not caring who is around to see it at this point. “Maybe we should go get dinner in town tonight and figure it all out?”
“I think that could be arranged.” He slides a hand into my hair, bringing me in for a deeper kiss.
“Is everyone staring at us?” I mumble against his lips.
“Does it matter?” His grip on me tightens, and I press my hips to his.
“Well, I am less likely to feel you up if we have an audience.”
He breaks the kiss. “Then let’s get the fuck out of here, yeah?”
I purse my lips and attempt to hold in the laughter, and it works for about five seconds.
He furrows his brow. “What?”
I slip my phone from the back pocket of my jeans, where I’d stuck it as soon as cameras were down, and snap a photo of his face. Emailing the evidence to myself first, I then flip the screen around so he can see for himself.
His nose wrinkles as he takes in his face, smeared with the remnants of my makeup. Because kissing wasn’t in the script for today, Sam didn’t bother to use the non-smudge stuff. “Oof. Crimson is not my color.”
I laugh, tucking my arm into his and dragging him toward the makeup trailer. “I’m sure Sam has plenty of ways to get all of that off your gorgeous face.”
He slips his hand into the back pocket of my jeans. “And then we’ll get out of here and commence with the feeling up?”
“I thought you wanted to take me out to a nice, romantic dinner where we talk all about our feelings and hopes and dreams for the future?” I lean into him, unable to keep myself from needing as much physical contact as possible.
He gives my ass a squeeze. “I wouldn’t say no to a little handy first.”
“Oh my god.” I swat at him and attempt once again to work myself out of his grip, but he doesn’t let me, instead dipping me down and gifting me with another swoon-worthy kiss.
“You know I always return the favor,” he says when he returns me to my original upright position.
“You’re incorrigible.”
“It’s cute that you think I know what that means.” He flashes me a wicked grin as we push through the makeup trailer door.
“I know you know what that means because I know I’m not the first person who’s called you that.” I shove him down into the makeup chair, and because Sam isn’t around, I find the makeup remover wipes and softly clean off the remains of my deep red lipstick from his face.
With him in the chair and me standing between his legs, we’re finally the same height. I can’t deny how good it feels to be here with him, having acknowledged not just our crackling chemistry, but that there might be—that there definitely is—something more here. When I finish with Grayson, he pulls a cloth from the pack and ever so softly wipes at the remaining color painted on my lips. He’s so exceedingly gentle, it takes minutes longer than it should, but I’m frozen, so absolutely transfixed by the care with which he cleans my skin. I’d stand here for the rest of the night if need be.
“All clear,” he finally whispers, tossing the scarlet-stained cloth in the trash before taking my face in his hands.
