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Chris lifted his head, not realizing he had pressed Bronte into the cushions of the couch. He smiled sheepishly and sat up, leaving just enough space between them to still breathe in each other’s air. He searched her eyes, blazing with desire yet still filled with apprehension.
And not for the first time—not even for the millionth time—he regretted leaving Bronte. Although in this moment, with her in his grasp, it was worse. Seeing doubt in her gaze cut him in half.
“Bronte,” he whispered, reaching for her hand, but she pulled away from him and blew out a slow breath. He knew—was absolutely aware—it was really important to talk now, yet all he wanted to do was touch her. He needed that reassurance. That she was here. That she was real.
He had dreamed about her almost every night since he’d left Pennsylvania. About the smooth skin below her ear, the gentle curve of her back under his hands, the slight swell of her breasts as they pressed against him. It was as if he had dreamed her here into reality, and his lips were greedy, wanting to roam all over her chin, jaw, and neck.
“Is this how it always is?” she asked after a while, and he jerked his eyes away from the slope of her shoulder.
“What?”
“Women throwing themselves at you.”
“No. It’s never like that.” When she lifted a delicate eyebrow at him, he held his hands up. “That was a total fluke. Random strangers aren’t allowed on set. One of their dads is an executive producer, so he got them a pass.”
“They’re quite determined,” she said evenly, crossing her arms over her chest.
Truly, stuff like that never happened. Security was tight around here, but even if it weren’t, it wasn’t like he was looking for someone else. He didn’t care about anyone else but Bronte.
Chris attempted to hide his blossoming smile. “I kinda love that you’re so jealous.”
She let out an adorable growl. “Well, I’m so glad you like it because I hate it.” Then she threw her hands up. “Do you know what it’s like for me to come here?”
He shook his head even though it was a rhetorical question.
“For me to come all this way and surprise you, and—” she pointed toward his window, to the world outside “—be here with all these people and this stuff? It’s really intimidating.” She flicked at the lanyard around her neck. “I’m a guest here, and it’s so weird and cool and, yeah, super hot to see you work, but it makes me feel like…” She lifted one shoulder, the corner of her mouth drooping down. “Like an outsider. Then there are those girls with huge fake boobs and big lips, and I had to stand there listening to them talk about how much they want to have sex with you.”
She dropped her chin toward her chest, and for one moment, Chris thought she might cry. But instead, she said, “I hate them. I hate that they think they stand a chance. That they might be able to come back here and put their hands on you, try to claim you.”
With two fingers under her jaw, he tipped her face up. “They can’t. You’re the one who’s here. You’re the one I want.” When she shifted the slightest bit away, he held her steady with his hand on the back of her neck. “You came all the way across the country to give me the silent treatment?”
She only looked away and ducked out of his hold.
“Talk to me, Bronte. Tell me what you’re thinking about.”
Her chest and shoulders expanded on a big breath, her cheeks puffing up before she let it out. Then she rolled her head to the side, her arms at her sides as if she was exhausted. He was too. “What do you want to talk about, Chris?”
“Anything. Everything.”
“You want to do this here?” She gestured around the trailer, and he nodded. She pointed to his face. “Like that?”
“Yeah.” He didn’t care if he had to sit with this paint of his face all day, all week. She was here now, and he needed to hear what she had to say. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”
She refused to meet his eyes. “It was Shelley’s idea. She bought me the ticket.”
“Does that mean you don’t want to be here?”
She turned her back to him for a moment. “Of course I want to be here. I just didn’t know what your reaction would be.”
“What did you think? That I’d be pissed?” He huffed. “Bronte, this is the best surprise you could have given me.”
“Well.” She circled back around, lifting one shoulder. “I didn’t know.”
“You didn’t know?” He cradled her jaw in the palms of his hands. “How could you thi—”
She batted him away then, her brows narrowing. “Because I’m mad, Chris! I’ve been mad.”
