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“Cut!” Smith yells. “Great scene.”
Maddox stays on top of me, and suddenly, I’m acutely aware of his hardness on my leg.
“Cut! Jeez, Maddox,cut!“ Smith barks. “Get off the poor woman.”
Maddox blinks. “Right. Sure.” He stands, and a rush of cold air hits my skin. He puts the hand with the gun over his crotch as he extends the other to help me up, then clears his throat. “Just wanted to make sure you caught that critical moment between Sullivan and Bryce.”
“We got it, Madman.” Smith scribbles something on his clipboard. “That’s a wrap for today, everyone. I’ll see you all in St. Sebastian for next week’s beach scenes.”
I take Maddox’s hand and get up, wincing at the smarting in my hip and the throbbing between my legs. Out of my peripheral vision, I see Jemma giving me the stink-eye.
Before Maddox’s team can fuss over him, he brushes himself off and flashes me his usual emotionless expression. “I appreciate you getting that right, Riley. Jemma and I have reservations at Cafe Fromage tonight. Six p.m. sharp.”
So, he is screwing Jemma! Andthat’swhy he was so encouraging earlier? He wanted me to hurry for his big date? God, could he be a bigger douche?
2
The Naked Entanglement
“Riley, 911 emergency.” It’s Skye, my best friend’s mother and my self-appointed godmother. Her voice booms through the car speakerphone when she says, “I’m texting you directions. You gotta come—I need you.”
“Wait…” I trail off, realizing the line’s dead. I’m in St. Sebastian filming, but what in the world is she doing here? It’s a five-hour drive from Atlanta where we both live.
And is she really in trouble? That’s the thing about Skye—no one ever knows for sure. After calling her back countless times to no avail, I follow her directions to a remote beach. Why Skye’s here is anyone’s guess. Whatever’s going on, I owe her big time—she’s taken me in since my relationship with my parents is complicated. The latest strain happened when they demanded I not quit my accounting job for this role.
Which, speaking of, doing this for Skye means I can’t practice my lines for my next scene, which I have to nail. If I prove I can cut it, andUrban Dawngets a season three renewal, I could permanently replace Zibby. If not, I’m out. So we’re talking Instant Pot level pressure.
I have to succeed because I’ll never have another stratospheric shot like this again. With acting, you don’t get second chances: hell, most who dare try never get one. Believe me, I know—my mother drilled that into my head, telling me I didn’t have “the look” to make it. Man, it’d be cathartic to prove her wrong.
I park in a gravel lot next to Skye’s Winnebago and sprint toward the nearly desolate beach. At the gated entry, two women pushing eighty stand wearing oversized straw beach hats…and nothing else.
Okay, then.
One steps in front of me and says, “Hello, miss, and welcome to St. Sebastian’s Nudist Haven. We encourage all our guests to express themselves as nature intended.”
I halt mid-stride. “I’m sorry?” I should’ve known there’d be a catch. There always is with Skye.
Curiosity tugs my eyes southward as I speak to the gentlewomen. “I’m only here to help a friend. She’s in trouble.” I go to dart through the gate, but they both move in for the block.
Folding her arms, the woman wearing a few dozen coats of hot pink lipstick speaks. “People who come here are comfortable in their own skin. You’ll upset our equilibrium if you go in with your body covered in shame.”
I groan. “Really?”
“Really.”
Good god.Now what? Skye’s not answering her phone, and she needs me. Or maybe she needs me? I’m arguing with myself when I see a beautiful form of a man in the parking lot. He has sun-kissed skin, the perfect black wavy hair, and a bod for days. He’s tall, chiseled—and currently stripping down to his birthday suit.
Then he throws his clothes in his car before pressing his key fob and locking it with a beep. As he approaches uswith a swagger—or more of a lazy grace, really—my eyes roam downward before popping wide. The thing hanging between his legs is so enormous, it’s hard to process something that appears to defy physics. How does it not pull him downward?
Hmm. Maybe a naked beach isn’t so bad, after all.
As he gets closer, I realize that made-for-TV chest looks familiar—one I’ve seen a half dozen times in wardrobe changes.
Oh, shit!
“Riley?” he says, shocked.
“Maddox?” I choke out. What is he doing without his bodyguard? Instinctively, I cover my eyes but peek through my fingers.
