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My heart hammers in my chest, and I find my legs moving toward the commotion, ready to see what we’re dealing with.
Paxton is pulling a surly Theresa out of the water, helping her to stand on dry land. He steps away, meeting a few crew members who are running up with towels.
I watch on as Paxton takes the reins, wrapping one around her and then Stefan, speaking to them both. Whatever he says to Theresa appears to calm her down, and I have to wonder what voodoo he’s playing with to make that happen. He stands back, his chest rising and falling as he catches his breath. Dripping wet without a care.
I’m not sure what possesses me, maybe that magic Paxton’s weaving, but I find myself grabbing a towel from a crew member and rushing toward him.
He helped everyone else. Someone needs to look after him.
Not you, Mallory.
When I’m a few feet from him, I stop short.
Paxton’s hands are currently attached to the bottom of his wet shirt that clings to every muscle on his torso. He lifts it up and over his head, baring his sculpted abs and pecs, glistening with water under the bright sun.
I stand in front of him, towel in hand, mouth most likely hanging open.
He’s a work of art.
All chiseled and tan. Wet and sexy as sin.
Look away.
But no matter how hard I try to stop staring, I can’t.
I’m in a trance, unable to move.
“Mallory,” his voice calls out, and I blink, trying to focus. “Is that for me?”
My gaze snaps to his face. His features are sharp and pensive, eyes trained on the towel in my hand.
“Umm, yes.” I reach out my arm just as he does, and our hands touch. His wet fingers are cold against my skin, causing a shiver to run through me, but I feel warm at the same time.
“Still hot?” he asks.
My eyes narrow as I try to understand his question. “What? No.”
His gaze drops from my eyes to my face, and I know my cheeks must be beet red.
Great.
“Okay, Mallory.” His full lips tip up into the cockiest smirk I have ever seen, and I want to melt into the ground. Or smack his smug face.
Bastard.
19
Mallory
@Stargossip: What do you get when you put an overbearing mom and a seriously deranged director together? A splash. *You’re welcome for the picture attached.*
@Movielover: She’s batshit insane.
@dramalover1234: Someone make that picture a meme.
@Mario33: That’s asshole energy.
@Deathtothesystem: How is this movie still filming?
After this morning’s chaos, we have all been beckoned to a bonding session to try to fix the drama still erupting throughout the island.
Although this particular drama is all Theresa and Stefan. The added tension on the set has affected both Teagan’s and Brad’s ability to act, and that’s a major problem. I wouldn’t be surprised if Theresa is asked to leave.
She needs to, or else things won’t get better.
“Are we really doing this?” I groan to myself, annoyed that instead of being out rubbing elbows and finding my next client, I’m stuck on an island, being forced to kumbaya with people I don’t particularly care for.
Michael left a note on my hut’s door requesting me to meet with the group by the small alcove near the beach.
This afternoon, the actors and agents are going to spend some time “breaking down the walls and getting to know each other.” Stefan’s words.
I don’t care to break down walls around these people. When it was suggested, I thought only Teagan and Brad would be subjected to it. I felt like they needed to spend time together.
It turns out that’s the last thing Teagan needs. Spending time with slimy Brad is a recipe for disaster.
I didn’t realize my presence would be requested, too, but I guess it’s best, considering I don’t want my client alone with the predator.
“You seem thrilled.” Hearing Paxton’s smarmy voice from behind me has my back muscles tightening. This man drives me insane, and not in a good way.
To think, the first time I met him, I was prepared to make him a notch on my belt.
Nope.
Stop.
Not going there.
The proximity to this awful man is starting to warp my mind because even when I’m thinking about how awful he is, my brain short-circuits and reminds me how good a kisser he is and how skilled he is with his—
And there I go again.
No good will come from lusting after my archnemesis.
The closer his footsteps get, the more I can feel the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand up. My legs wobble, and my palms begin to sweat. An intense ache forms in my core, and the need to rub it out is intense.
This isn’t good.
My body isn’t getting the memo, and it’s a real issue.
I pick up my pace, determined not to feed my body any more ammo. I’m not in the mood to make small talk with him while we walk to the same place. It’ll only lead to an argument.
