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Despite the few bumps, the filming of the movie remains on schedule. Although, there seems to be an unusual amount of people getting up close and personal on this movie—Luca and Audrey, Max, the set medic, and Andrew, Kane’s body double. And then there’s Kane and Scarlett—definitely sparks flying between those two.
When I arrive at the studio on the penultimate day of filming, I can’t help checking the security feed to see where Charity is, as I do every morning.
It doesn’t take long to find her, nose deep in a brief as she twists a lock of hair around her index finger.It’s a habit she’s had since she was a kid.
I never saw her as anything but Luke’s kid sister until the day she graduated high school. I was so fucking proud of her that day. She had a tougher time than most with her dyslexia, but she never let it hold her back.
It was a bittersweet day, almost a year after Luke’s death. I was in the audience with Charity’s parents. I’ll never forget the mixture of joy and sorrow on her face as she climbed the stage to receive her diploma—joy at her achievement and sorrow that Luke wasn’t there to share it with her. Once all the diplomas were handed out, she flew toward me and threw herself into my arms, wrapping herself around me. That’s the moment I realizedmy feelings for her were far from platonic. It’s also when the guilt started, and I’ve been fighting the attraction ever since.
Until I kissed her under the mistletoe.
And dined on her sweet pussy before marking her with my release.
Yeah, definitely crossed a few lines there.
I scrub a hand through my hair. I need some fresh air. Leaving the office, I head off to make a perimeter check, first inside and then outside. Once I’m done, I go over the surveillance from last night, checking for anything untoward.
The production will be winding down tomorrow morning, and I’ll return to Vermont a few hours later. The thought of leaving Charity is . . . painful. Unless . . .
Charity usually comes home for the holidays. It suddenly occurs to me that I haven’t even asked her what her plans are.
I scan the security feeds to see where she is. It takes me a minute to find her. She’s in one of the storage rooms behind the stage, sifting through boxes. I frown, wondering what she’s doing back there all alone, and before I know it, my feet are carrying me in her direction.
My question dies on my lips as I open the door, and my eyes fall on Charity as she lifts a gun from the box. My vision narrows. My heart stops. My lungs seize. I’m back in Helmand, acrid smoke filling my nostrils and gunfire ricocheting all around me . . .
CHARITY
During a lull in filming, I decide to sift through some of the boxes of props I noticed during the first day of filming. Anything to distract me from thoughts of Ryder and what happened the other morning. I know he’s avoiding me. To be honest, I’ve beenavoiding him, too, because it will kill me to see the regret and rejection in his eyes.
I head to the storage room behind the stage and pull one of the crates from the shelving unit. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, I sift through the various items. It seems no one has notarized what’s in these crates because there’s a diverse assortment of props—everything from phones to plastic flowers to remote controls. The props nerd in me itches to make an itinerary.
The next item has me raising my eyebrows. A gun? Not a real gun, of course. Not even a working prop gun, as the safety protocols around those are just as strict as a real gun these days. No, this one is made of heavy resin and makes a very realistic prop.
My head jerks up as the door opens, and Ryder stands there staring at me. He sees me holding the prop gun, and his face pales. I stand as he strides toward me, a strangely detached look in his eyes. Suddenly, the gun is torn from my hand, and he’s up in my face, anger rolling from him in waves.
“What the fuck, Charity? You shouldn’t be handling a goddamn gun! It’s my job to protect you—to protect everyone!’ he shouts, waving a hand around him.
I gape at him, wondering what he’s ranting about. His dark eyes have a frantic look, and sweat beads his brow.
Protect everyone?Is that what he thinks he has to do? And,oh, shit.Did seeing me holding the gun trigger him? He’s used to handling weapons, but he’s not used to seeing me holding a gun, fake or not, and we both know how clumsy I can be.
I cup his face. “It’s okay, Ryder. It’s just a prop,” I state slowly and calmly. “It isn’t real.”
His brow wrinkles a little as he looks from me back to the prop gun now in his hand.He’s shaking. “I . . . fuck, what’s wrong with me?”
The look of vulnerability in his eyes turns me inside out. I swallow my tears as I wrap my arms around him. “It’s okay. I’m safe, and I’ve got you. You’re here with me. No one is going to hurt you.”
I continue to murmur soft words of comfort, smoothing my hands along his back until the tension finally drains from his muscles. His arms come around me, almost crushing me with his strength, but I don’t care. He needs this. He needs me. And I’ll always be here for him.
I pull back to look at him, but his mouth is on mine before I can speak. The kiss is hot and wild, almost desperate, as his tongue spears into my mouth, tasting every inch of me. I moan, wrapping my arms around his neck, giving him everything, every part of me.
Ryder kisses me like I’m his air, his sole reason for being, and I melt into him as our mouths mate and our tongues tangle.
And then he breaks the kiss, and a shudder goes through him as he buries his face in my neck.
“Talk to me, Ryder. Please,” I whisper, stroking my hands through his hair.
He blows out a tortured breath. “I promised him I’d take care of you.”
