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No wonder her films were so popular. If she could make an audience feel an iota of what she made him feel…
She brushed a crumb off the table. “I think that there are people out there whom we are uniquely suited for, but those people are rare. So if the opportunity arises, you can’t let it slip through your fingers. When I’ve met someone I care for,” his breath caught as her gaze met his, “I don’t run away.”
He swallowed back the lump in his throat.
This was why he’d never wanted this project. She’d always managed to find her way behind enemy lines, no matter how fortified his defenses were. Hard to keep her out when he was the one handing her the damn key.
“You know that all this stuff,” he waved at the gifts the hotel had left them, “is made up. A series of carefully crafted moments specifically designed to manipulate the audience. And you’re okay with that?”
“Yes,” she said. “I want the whole mad dance, from rain kisses to public declarations. Someone to care for me when I’m sick, save me from attending another boring event, or simply be quiet with. I want it all.”
And dammit, the more time he spent with her, the harder it was to not want it, too.
30 INT. HOTEL - BEDROOM - NIGHT
* * *
Preparing for sleep was an exercise in restraint. Hayley slipped into the bathroom to brush her teeth before Harrison showered. He was hard as fuck, but he would not jack off while she was in the next room. Even if it meant taking the coldest shower he could stand.
He hoped she’d be asleep when he returned and they wouldn’t have to face the awkward moment when they would lie next to each other, not discussing the obvious.
Maybe he should sleep on the couch.
He exited the bathroom in his boxers and T-shirt. No fucking way he was sleeping naked tonight. A single lamp illuminated the room, casting a soft, seductive glow over the bed. Despite his attempts to discourage his dick from getting any ideas, it stubbornly refused to go completely soft, and it wouldn’t take a genius to tell that from looking at him.
So, of course, it was the first thing Hayley noticed when he walked into the bedroom.
She was sitting against the headboard on the left side of the bed, notepad in her lap, when her gaze jumped up to greet him, noticeably snagging on his package. His dick, the traitor, thickened at the attention.
Six months ago, while they had fucked in that coat room, he’d thought about this. About having her in a bed, laid out so he could take his time. Testing how far he could tease her before she couldn’t take it anymore.
Seeing whether their fantasies aligned.
“Maybe I should sleep on the couch.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Harry. You wouldn’t even fit comfortably. If anyone should sleep on the couch —”
“You’re not sleeping on the couch.” He was not that much of an asshole.
“Then I guess you’d better get in.”
In three long strides, Harrison was standing at the right side of the bed. He pulled back the covers, slipped in, and turned onto his side, his eyes and his dick facing away from her.
It was going to be a very long night.
“Goodnight, Harry.”
Did she always have to say his name like that? It wasn’t helping.
“Goodnight.”
Her chuckle followed, before quiet scratches of her pen against paper were the only sounds in the room. After a while, a light humming started up. She probably wasn’t even aware she was doing it.
And all of a sudden — the routine, the silent maneuvering, the easy comfort — he could imagine it. Night after night, together, just like this.
And dammit, he wanted it.
The humming stopped, replaced by the sounds of Hayley setting her notebook and pen on the nightstand. Then the last remaining light went out.
