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“Yep, and he was already in the building. He found out that you were here and all but stumbled over himself for a chance to take the Briggs kid’s place.”
Christian DeBonaire was one of the industry’s most sought-after male models with the blond-haired, blue-eyed, rugged good looks that had landed him on various covers, websites, commercials, and TV shows.
Christian had probably stumbled over himself to accept because he’d propositioned her more than once. Unfortunately, it was never for dinner, a movie, a drink, or even a cup of coffee.
Or a breakfast date.
There were simply not enough breakfast date offers in her life. She was a completely different person over pancakes and waffles than she was over veggies and rice.
She returned to the set, the heart-shaped bed gone and replaced with a plain green backdrop. Christian entered, barefoot and wearing a satin robe and matching shorts, the robe open to show off the toned ridges of his stomach. When he noticed her, he smiled, and then his gaze drifted down the length of her body.
“Raina.” He leaned down for a hug. “It’s good to see you. How long has it been now, a year?”
“About,” she said.
“Good God, almighty.” He stuck his middle finger into one of the fishnet openings and wrapped the string around the tip. “They didn’t tell me you would be wearing something like this. Turn around for me?”
“Nah, I’m good.”
Chuckling, he placed his mouth right next to her ear. “Come on, Raina. Let me stick my cock in that beautiful ass.”
She shook her head. “No, thanks. I’m not a cock person.”
“Oh?” He eased back, eyebrow lifted. “I mean, I’m down for a threesome. I know some women who’d willingly join us.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
It felt like eons since she’d last had the pleasure of the company of a penis, but she wasn’t acockperson. She happened to be more fond ofdick—riding, stroking, kissing, swallowing.
“Enough foreplay, you two,” Blaze teased, camera raised. “Now, show me what I want. Give me so much sexy, I come on myself.”
One thing she wouldn’t miss about the industry was the energy; she didn’t know how she’d managed as long as she had. Sometimes, all it took was a two-minute conversation to wear her down.
“I want those legs around him, RD,” Blaze instructed. “Christian, grab that magnificent ass and lift her off her feet.”
Christian bent.
Her heels left the ground.
But then Christian was suddenly a few feet away, and his arms were nowhere near her body.
A familiar cologne seeped into her nostrils, and her legs enveloped the newcomer’s midsection, not needing her brain to catch up to the situation at hand. Whenever he came within a few feet of her, her brain took a backseat.
“I’m sorry, but who the hell is this sexy beast in the scrubs?” Blaze demanded. “Wait your turn, Dr. Hot-As-Fuck.”
She looked up into Lucas’ eyes, and she couldn’t see the forest for the trees.
“A word, Mrs. Saraci?” he said.
She didn’t break eye contact. “Blaze, I need a few minutes. I need to talk to Dr. Hot-As-Fuck. It’s…important.”
Blaze sucked his teeth, and the noise echoed throughout the entire studio. “Important? RD, who the heck is this man?”
“He’s my husband.” She pointed over Lucas’ shoulder. “Saraci? Head in that direction. I’ll tell you when to stop.”
* * *
She led him to a room she’d used for all of twenty seconds when she first arrived on set a little before six o’clock that morning. Since then, it had transitioned from a dressing room into a dumping ground.
