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Our costume designer scurries over and throws a robe over my shoulders before walking me off set. Although I’mnotglad Madman—or Iceman, really—got an eyeful, I’m relieved there’s a break.
The second I’m in my dressing room chair, Vera puts sticky stuff all over my nipple. I look up and suppress a gasp when, in the mirror, I see Maddox knocking at the partially open door. He says, “Can I come in?”
“Just one second, Mr. Winter,” Vera calls out. “I’m almost finished.” When she has the pasty firmly rubber-glued to my boob, she helps me refasten my robe before scurrying to the door and letting Maddox in.
I spin in my chair, and my eyes meet his. Hard, crystalline, frigid—just like him. My mouth speaks on autopilot, thankfully. “What do you need?” Irefuseto call him Mr. Winter.
He stands holding the door open but not entering. “I see you’ve been practicing.”
What’s that supposed to mean? That I sucked in rehearsal? One line in, and I already prefer he not speak to me. “Yes. I took private lessons.”
“I wanted to commend the effort…” he trails off, his lips twitching as he adds, “Rook.”
I try not to let shock contort my face. Rook stands for Rookie, and it’s the nickname the crew’s given me. It isn’t the worst, but itisa constant reminder that I’m the underdog. Of course, Maddox has never addressed me by that name oranyname, so hearing it come out of his mouth does something to me. Pride blooms in my chest, like I’ve earned the grand honor of being on a nickname basis with him, and I hate myself for it.
“Um. Thanks?” I croak.
Giving the door a tap, he says, “I know it’s a tough scene, but just keep doing what you’re doing.”
Wow. Color me flabbergasted. He actually sounds genuine, and I fumble for words before I say, “Thank you.” This time, I mean it. I despise feeling weak, but I’m so far over my head right now, Ireallyneed the boost.
When we’re back in our places and Smith calls out, “Action,” I start where I left off. And, admittedly, I’m feeling more confident. My half-naked body hovers over Maddox, and I flash him a wicked smile as I stroke his hard pecs under his thin shirt.
Stepping between his legs, I bend into him again, giving him the scripted eyeful of my glistening breasts. “Still think I’m a nine?”
He looks up at me with his on-screen signature smirk. “Eh. Nine point five.” Although his button-pushing words are part of the script, the huskiness of his voice is new.
I tug his hair and pull his head back. Nuzzling his neck, I say, “Wrong answer.”
“You smell so damn good.” Maddox, or Agent Sullivan, closes his eyes.
“Glad to make you happy, baby.” Man, this is getting steamy—Smith should be pleased. As I slide down Maddox’s body, I expect him to look away, but he holds my gaze. I swiftly move back up, making sure my chest rubs against his. I stop at his face to trace his jawline with the tip of my nose. Even though I’m acting, I have to say, I enjoy being in control. Maybe a little too much.
When I feel his chest rise and fall beneath me, my breath hitches. And when a bulge threatens to burst from the zipper of his pants, I swallow hard. That’s clearly not part of the script.
I feel a deep satisfaction at the thought of torturing him, and it causes me a momentary brain lapse.
Focus.Standing and turning away from him, I lower myself until I hover over his lap. I circle my hips, just as I’ve been taught. I have to stay on task and keep my hormones out of this. Which, by the way, why are theyinit to begin with?
Is this normal?
When I accidentally dip too low and brush over Maddox’s bulge, electricity shoots through me. He slips a bill into the side of my thong, and the touch of his fingertips makes my mind go hazy.
I turn back, and Maddox’s chilly eyes somehow burn into me, fragmenting my thoughts. I slide down his body again, pressing harder against him. When I make another quick pass over his zipper—this time intentionally—I surprise myself. Clearly, the shot of vodka has erased my inhibitions.
On beat with the music, I roll my shoulders back and sway my hips as I move downward.
“Oh, yeah,” Maddox moans, his eyes blazing. At this point, I have no idea if he’s acting or not.
When I come back up, he puts his face so close to mine I can see the flecks of cobalt in his eyes. “I’ll pay more,” he croaks, grazing his finger over my waist, sending sparks down my spine.
A gunshot blast from the sound machine yanks me back into the moment, and Maddox shoves me down before shooting blanks at the perp. Then he throws himself on top of me, his hot body scorching my skin.
I hit the floor—hard—which hurts my hip bone. Maddox was much rougher now than in rehearsal, but I bet it looked more genuine. When the other characters fall to the ground, dead, Maddox looks down at me and smirks. “Sorry, Bryce.”
I gaze up at his face, as I’m supposed to be taken by him. And in all honesty, I am. His body is doing major things to mine right now, and my logical brain has exited stage left. “Thanks, Sullivan.” My lips curve, and something primal in me wants to wrap my legs around him and pull him closer.
Get it together, Riley!
