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“I’m sorry,” I say to Willow for what feels like the hundredth time. “I thought I had it.” Shaking my head, I turn away from her and grab the script from the coffee table. “I’m a little out of practice.”
“It’s okay, Nico,” Willow says in a singsong tone. “Practice makes perfect. It’s just you and me. No one is here to judge you.”
Willow gets me on a deeper level, as if she understands all of my insecurities and welcomes them. She never judges me or makes me feel like an asshole. Even when I screw up, she’s there to coax me through the darkness that often consumes me when I get down on myself.
I sink to the couch, script in hand, and read through the scene once more. Willow drops to the cushion next to me, her silence somewhat comforting. I like that she gives me room to breathe and never pushes me too far. She’s starting to grow on me.
I look over at Willow, who’s staring out the window that overlooks the yard.
“You ready?” I ask her.
She cocks her head at me. “Start again from the top?”
I nod, and then we hop off the couch to get into position again. With the script behind Willow’s back, she stands tall, looking at me with those eyes that slice through me every time. Her full, pink lips part slightly, and she sucks in a deep breath. I have dreamed about tasting those lips for the past week. Every time she bats her eyelashes and gives me one of those dreamy fangirl looks, I want to kiss her until my lips hurt.
Willow waves her hand in front of my face. “You in there, Nico?”
“Um… Yeah, I was thinking about the scene.”
I slide my hand behind her back, pulling her into my chest. “I can’t fight it anymore, Princess Alora.”
She slips her arms around my neck and melts into me. “Then don’t,” she whispers.
I dip my head down, my lips inches from hers.
“Nico, we can’t,” she breathes.
“It’s part of the script.”
Willow takes a step back and throws her hands onto her hips. “I’m your agent.”
“The knight kisses the queen in this scene.”
She blushes. “I’m sure you’ve kissed enough women. You don’t need the practice.”
“I’m nervous about this scene. It would help if we walked through it together.”
“It’s so…” She turns her head away. “I shouldn’t. Maybe you should ask someone from Shay’s acting group.”
“I need you, Willow.”
Why is she so worried about a kiss? I’ve had to kiss dozens of women on camera, most of which did nothing for me. I only dated one of my costars after an intimate scene, and that ended almost as abruptly as it began.
Her eyes meet mine, her chest rising and falling with each breath. “Okay,” she says in a hushed tone. “But this stays between us. It’s for the movie, nothing more.”
“You got it, agent girl. Noting more.” I cock an eyebrow at her. “Let’s take it from the top.”
We repeat the same lines, my fingers digging into her hip, and she trembles in my arms. I can see the hesitation on her face, though there’s the desire in her eyes. Her words say one thing, but her body says another. My lips crash into hers, my tongue sweeping into her mouth. She slides her hands up my chest and links her fingers together, holding me in place.
Gripping her chin, I deepen the kiss, pinning her against my chest with another kiss that drains the air from my lungs. She moans when I suck her bottom lip into my mouth, soft and playful. We paw at each other’s clothes, and the kiss goes beyond what I had imagined.
In the movie, Lord Marlon scoops the queen into his arms and lays her on the bed. Willow doesn’t protest when I lift her off her feet, moving her to the couch with our lips melded.
I climb on top of her, rubbing the pad of my thumb along her cheek. She wants this as much as I do. But what am I doing? This beautiful woman is my agent, my shot at a second chance.
Our lips separate for a second. Willow stares at me, her chest rising and falling with each breath. I slip my fingers through her hair, and she leans into me, desperate for more. When our tongues collide, I kiss her like I need the air from her lungs to survive. She wraps her legs around my back. Her thighs squeeze me so tightly I have to remind myself that we’re rehearsing a scene.
The kiss is fake. So why does the swirl of emotions ripping through me feel so real?
When our lips separate, Willow’s eyes flicker with acknowledgment. She takes slow, shallow breaths, unable to meet my gaze.
“It’s okay,” I promise. “Things got carried away.”
“Yeah,” she whispers. “That felt a little too…”
