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“And from the looks of it,” I grin, “you want me too.”

As if to entice her, I set the hot chocolate on the nightstand and start unbuttoning my shirt while I wait for her to say something. Her eyes trail down my body, and her voice cracks when my fingers reach the top of my pants.

“But what about my job?” she asks. It isn’t a no. “I just got out of a bad relationship. I don’t want another one. I can’t afford another scandal, and you’re not exactly under the radar.”

“Easy.” I walk toward her. “We keep it strictly sexual. Just fun, pleasure, and an orgasm you’ll think about for days. No relationship. And no matter what, this won’t affect your job. I promise.”

She turns the idea over for a moment, biting her bottom lip as if weighing the consequences against her desire. Then she steps toward me and reaches for the top button of my pants.

“Alright,” she says breathlessly, looking up at me. “No relationship, no interfering with my contract, and no performances.”

“Performances?”

“Leave your acting skills at the door. I want us both to enjoy this.”

She undoes the button, slides her hand inside my pants, and wraps her fingers around my cock.

I suck in a breath. Her fingers are soft, and she doesn’t hesitate. She strokes me once, slow and firm, watching my face like she wants to see exactly what she’s doing to me.

Fuck.

Even if I wanted to pretend this was a performance, I couldn’t. My muscles tighten, my hips push into her hand on their own, and every thought about the studio, my publicist, and Joy Davie is gone.

I’ve never wanted to fuck someone the way I want Nina right now.

CHAPTER 6

NINA

This is really happening.

My hand is wrapped around Jarek Eriksen’s length, and he looks at me like I’m the one in charge. Maybe I am. His shirt hangs open; his breathing is uneven. And when I stroke him again, his head drops forward, and he swears under his breath.

“Careful.” He catches my wrist. “I’ve got plans for you first.”

I laugh, and he uses the opening to kiss me.

It’s not a movie kiss. There’s nothing careful or choreographed about it. His hand slides into my hair, his mouth opens mine, and he kisses me like he’s been thinking about it for days. Maybe he has. I know I have, even if I’d never admit it.

He pulls back just enough to work on my blouse. One button. Two. His knuckles brush my skin with each one, and by the time he pushes the fabric off my shoulders, I’ve forgotten how to breathe normally.

Then his eyes drop, and I remember exactly what I look like.

Reid used to joke about my curves. Little comments, always with a laugh, always “just kidding.” My hips. My thighs. How I’d “filled out” since college. I told myself it didn’t bother me. But standing half-naked in front of a man who gets paid to look like a Greek statue, every one of those jokes comes rushing back.

I cross an arm over my chest.

Jarek grabs my arm gently and pulls it away.

“Nope,” he says. “Don’t do that.”

“You’re an actor. You’re used to women who look like⁠—”

“Like what?” He unhooks my bra with one hand and lets it fall to the floor. “Like this? Because I’m looking at you right now, and I’m about to lose my fucking mind.”

“That sounds like a line.”

“It’s not a line.” He takes my hand and wraps it back around his cock. “Does this feel like acting to you?”