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Elliot looked over at Wentworth scowling toward the doorway. “Philip. I can move into his office space.”
Wentworth spun toward him so fast, Honey jumped. “Move in with that guy?”
“Perhaps not ideal, but I have to imagine better than this.”
A heavy laugh came out of him. “I’d have thought it was harder for me than for you.”
“I don’t want you suffering on my account.”
“I’m used to it.”
“Wentworth. I need us to talk. I need us to communicate. You’re not ready, I understand and respect that, but it’s torturous for me to wait. To see you every day and not be able to explain. To apologise, to talk about it.”
Wentworth closed his eyes briefly. “Moving in with Philip won’t solve all those things. Also, yellow roses? That symbolises lukewarm affection and infidelity. What a winner.”
“It symbolises forgiveness. He needs that, Wentworth.” Elliot blinked back the heat in his eyes. “Can’t you see how horrible he feels?”
A phone shrilled and, hand shaking, Wentworth answered. “Louisa. . . . Yes, he’s here. No, he didn’t mention . . . I see . . .” Their gazes clashed. “I have no problem standing in. . . . We’ll be right there.”
He tucked his phone into his back pocket as he stood. “Come on. Louisa needs us.”
Wentworth was already charging out the door.
“Did she tell you the nature of the scene she needs us for?”
“Yes.”
Wait, he had no issues with that?
Elliot frowned the whole way to the Lime studio. Inside, the arena was mostly darkened except for the staged bedroom in the corner. Rigging surrounded it on two sides with a dozen lights on the overhead trussing, pointed toward the set.
A cameraman worked his equipment and Louisa was on the rigging, adjusting the fresnels. Wentworth approached the ladder and she glanced down. “Guys, thank you. Tight as deadline. You’re saving us.”
Louisa climbed most of the way down the ladder and jumped joyfully into Wentworth’s opening arms. She beamed at him. “God, yes, you’re just the right frame. All that height, those broad shoulders, those arms . . .” She extracted herself from those arms and winked at Elliot. “And you’re his perfect counterpart.”
Elliot nodded. The romance was between two men of similar sizing to theirs. They’d make an almost ideal substitute.
“How do you need us, Louisa?” Wentworth asked.
“Actually, Elliot is more familiar with the choreography. He’s been helping the actors during rehearsals.”
Wentworth side-eyed him. “I thought you were a relationship consultant.”
“And intimacy consultant. It’s not easy for actors who barely know one another to have to act such vulnerable moments in front of a camera.”
Wentworth frowned. “So you, what?”
“I help them feel more comfortable being physical together.” Elliot’s pulse had never been so erratic. “Louisa, what lighting aspects need setting up?”
“The long distance shot from above with you both on the bed curled together, and the close-up during sex. Let’s start with the close-up.”
Of course.
“I assume,” Elliot said, hoping his voice stayed even, “You’ll need us—”
“Elliot, I’m just so grateful, I’ll work with anything. I mean, if the actors were here we’d do this naked—well there’s the thingies for private bits on the props table, and the sheets are clean and easy to exchange for actual filming—but I don’t expect that from you guys at all. Naked bottoms, underwear, fully clothed, whatever you’re comfortable with.”
Elliot nodded and nodded. His body flushed as he met Wentworth’s eyes. “Underwear?”
“I’m not shy. I can do this naked. Unless you—”
Elliot squared his shoulders. “I’m not shy either.”
It was a lie. Sort of. He wasn’t shy to be naked, he’d never had problems with that. But he was shy to be naked around Wentworth. It brought back so many tender, erotic memories, and there was no way he wouldn’t get aroused.
They undressed beside the props table, their shirts and jeans thwapping atop the wood. Neither spoke, but they traded sideways glances, like they were both trying to figure out what the other was thinking.
Off came their socks, one, two, and then . . . Elliot swallowed and shoved his boxer briefs to his ankles.
Wentworth did the same, and suddenly they were studiously avoiding eye contact.
“Here, put one of these on.”
Wentworth scoffed. “I wouldn’t know how to put that on. Unless you’d prefer me in it, I can do without.”
“I’m comfortable without.”
A nod in his peripheral vision. “Done.”
“I need you two on the bed,” Louisa said. “Wentworth on top.”
“We’re going to need five minutes first,” Elliot called out.
Wentworth glanced at him and away again. “We are?”
Body bursting into shivers, Elliot turned to Wentworth. “Yes, we are.”
Beautiful. Glorious. Wentworth was stunning, every inch of him. The tapered chest and torso, his muscular thighs, strong calves. Those hard pecs and dark nipples peeking from thick chest hair. Thicker than it used to be. His cock hung, gently plumped, at his thigh like Elliot’s own.
Wentworth stared back at him, gaze crawling every inch of Elliot’s goosebumped body. He ripped his gaze away, and Elliot swallowed and stepped closer. For all Wentworth’s bluster, he was nervous.
