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IVY
Ford’s voice is loud. Very loud. I lift my head up and realize he’s not even in the same room.
I feel sorry for whoever he’s yelling at, but I’m glad it’s not me. I wrap the white top sheet around my body and tiptoe to the door, opening it just a crack and listening.
“I pay you to be my eyes and ears,” Ford says sternly. “No one is even supposed to know I’m doing this film. Christ, Nolan hasn’t even announced it yet. Fuck speculation, Jasper. This is supposed to be a closed set. We’re on top of a goddamn mountain!”
I open the door a little wider and poke my head out. Ford is pacing the living room of his suite, wearing nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants. His unruly mop of dark brown hair is wild, and he’s wearing a pair of glasses.
What is it about a man in a pair of glasses?
He turns and catches me eavesdropping. He beckons me forward, and I cautiously step out of the bedroom and walk toward him. He holds out his arm, and I nestle into his embrace.
“Take care of this, Jasper. You know how I feel about my privacy,” he says in a low, almost menacing voice before ending the call. “Did I wake you up?”
“Who’s Jasper?” The question is out of my mouth before I even think about it.
“The head of my security.” He kisses the top of my head and leads me over to the sofa.
“Why are you so angry with him this morning?”
He sighs as we settle against the couch. “Someone saw us in the hotel last night and sold the photos to a tabloid.”
“What?” I pop up, clutching the sheet tighter around my body. “No! I can’t lose my job, Ford. If Nolan sees those pictures, he’s going to fire me.”
He holds up a hand. “Relax, Princess. Nolan won’t fire you over some grainy photographs. And even if he tried, I’d kick his ass.”
He runs a hand across his heavily stubbled cheek. Yesterday, there was just a light dusting of hair, but today, it’s grown in a little more and I can tell it’s more salt than pepper. His phone buzzes loudly, and I see the name JASPER flash across the screen.
“Yeah?” Ford answers. “Whatever. Just make sure the goddamn paparazzi stay off this mountain. I don’t need them chasing me down with snowmobiles.”
His words trigger something in my mind, and pieces of his complicated puzzle fit together. Years ago, Ford was in a horrific car accident in London. The weather was terrible, pouring rain, but he and his girlfriend were being hounded by a group of photographers trying to get a picture of them together as they left a nightclub. She was killed, but he walked away with some serious injuries. Is this why he’s so angry about photographs of us being sold?
I sit back against the sofa and chew on my thumbnail, waiting for his phone call to end.
“I’m sorry,” he says at last. “Don’t worry about your job.”
“You said last night I could ask you all the questions I wanted after we fucked. Well, we’ve fucked, and I’ve got questions.”
His dimple shows as one side of his mouth lifts. “I bet you do, princess.”
“I’m sorry, but I only know what I’ve read in magazines or seen on television.”
“Is there any way you could ask those questions while you’re riding my dick?”
There’s a sizable bulge now straining against the fabric of his sweatpants. What is it about men and gray sweats?
I narrow my eyes and purse my lips. “Spill the beans, and maybe Daddy will be rewarded.”
He laughs, a hearty sound that warms my belly. “Is that how you think this is gonna work?” He reaches forward, snags my wrist, and drags me across his lap. “I’ll fuck you when and where I want. If I want you to ride my cock, you’d better climb on and buckle up.”
He leans forward and fastens his mouth to mine, thrusting his tongue between my lips and my mouth. His hand slides up my bare back and tangles in my hair, holding me captive while he kisses the very breath from my body. His other hand reaches between our bodies, swiping his finger between my folds.
He pulls back and moans. “You’re wet for me, princess. Don’t pretend you don’t want me to fuck you again.”
I look away, because how do I turn a man like this down?
“I’m sore,” I mumble.
