Chapter Twenty-Nine
He’s closer now. I can feel his breath on my face. It’s not Jake, though. The smell is too stale, too sickly sweet. Like cheap white wine or vinegar. It’s him. He’s back. I want to cry. I pretend to be asleep, but I know I can’t fool him for long.
“Charlotte, bird,” he croons, stroking my hair with an unsteady hand. “It’s time to play another game with Daddy…”
Chapter Thirty
“Charlie, wake up!”
I hear his voice, but I’m still trapped beneath the crushing weight of my nightmare. Icy tendrils have wrapped themselves tightly around my wrists, holding me down from the light, from the present. From Jake.
With a cry, I wrench myself free and open my eyes. Jake is looming over me, his hands on my shoulders. He looks worried. Shaken loose from his habitual cool. “You scared the shit out of me. Do you always dream like that?”
“No,” I lie. My voice is woozy with sleep, but his presence is chasing away the last remnants of my nightmare. “It’s your fault. That drink was too strong.”
He raises a questioning eyebrow. “Liar. You didn’t touch a drop. You were too busy seducing me, remember?’
I manage a weak smile. “Ah, yes… I think. Was I any good?”
“Not bad, Books, not bad. But I daren’t mention a bonus. Not after last time.”
“You can be my bonus, then,” I say, reaching for him, and we lose ourselves in each other all over again.
But this time it’s my desolation that is spurring us on.
Chapter Thirty-One
“Did you confide in Max about us?”
I’m lying in Jake’s arms, with my cheek resting on his chest. He’s running his fingers lightly up and down my naked arm, his rock-hard thigh wedged between my legs. My body is aching, my mind a riotous mess. I’m being held hostage by this constant state of euphoria, and it’s all his fault.
“Max was onto us from the start. From the first moment we met.” Jake shifts position and slides his arm behind his head. His dark eyes are dull with exhaustion and his black hair screams “freshly fucked,” but he’s still the best looking man I’ve ever been to bed with. I’ve been ruined forevermore by this dirty-talking sex machine.
“If only you knew what I was really thinking about you that day,” I say teasingly.
He angles his head to glare at me. “Oh?”
“Don’t make me say it.” I shoot him a sheepish grin. “You’ll only kick me out of bed.”
“I doubt it. Like I said, I’m not done with you yet.”
I swallow quickly, my eyes darting over his face for more reassurance. “Max is very astute for a chauvinist pig,” I say, changing the subject.
“Don’t be fooled—he’s far smarter than anyone gives him credit for.” Unhooking his arm from my shoulder, Jake reaches over to the nightstand for a bottle of water.
“Was he very screwed up when your mother left?”
“How the hell do you know about that?” Jake lowers the bottle wearing the same expression I’ve seen him unleash on the press a hundred times.
Angry. Violated. Wary.
“Can’t remember,” I lie, backtracking quickly.
“Rachel,” he snaps, guessing in one. “How the fuck does she know? She’s my assistant, not my stalker. Unless there’s some big revelation in the works?”
“Max,” I say in a small voice.
“Max?” A flash of surprise darts across his face. “He confided in her, did he? That’s interesting.”
“You’re avoiding the question. I’ve never heard you talk about your family.”
“We’re talking about Max, aren’t we?”
“Max doesn’t count.”
Jake groans and sinks back down into the bed. “Perhaps I don’t think it’s for public consumption like the rest of my life.”
“Should I be flattered by that? I’ve never been someone’s public before.” Sarcasm is edging into my voice again.
Careful, Charlie. This is the closest he’s ever come to opening up.
“You’re not.” He tugs me back into his arms. “You’re far more intrusive, and a much better lay.”
“Rachel intimated that the press has no idea.”
“No, they wouldn’t. They wrongly assumed my father left her. For his colleague’s assistant, no less,” Jake adds wryly. “Nothing like repeating your father’s alleged indiscretions…”
He’s so close to me now he’s speaking directly into my hair. Beneath my fingertips he’s tense and reluctant.
“When she left, my father went to pieces. He gave my mother everything, but even he couldn’t have predicted— At first it was alcohol, then came the prescription meds. He was a fucking mess. By releasing false details to the press, my family was attempting to safeguard what little self-respect my father had left.”
I go very still. Jake’s talking. He’s actually talking. I wonder if he ever shared this with Cassie?
Reaching over, I briefly press my lips to his. “How old were you and Max?”
“Ten and six.”
I try to envisage their mother. Does she have the same deep, dark pools as her eldest son? Do they reflect the same torrents of emotion? Does her beauty bring a room to a standstill? Did she ever love him?
“She left him for another man,” says Jake brusquely, answering my next question, the words still poised and unspoken between us. “But don’t ask me who, because that’s a whole other fucked-up bedtime story. Eventually my father pulled it together, but he never went near Global again. It was still his obsession, though. His baby from afar.” Bitterness weaves in and out of Jake’s deep baritone. “He saw Global as the only thing he had left after his marriage fell apart.”
“But—”
“No more. I’ve given too much of myself already.”
Fair enough. I slide my palm across his chest in a bid to bind him closer to me.
“I don’t do sentiment.” He grabs my hand to halt its progression. “The same goes for regret.”
“I shan’t be expecting any love letters, then,” I quip, attempting to lighten the mood. Or have I received one already?
Extracting myself from a tangle of arms, I scramble out of bed.
“What the hell did I say now?” Jake sits up and frowns at me. “Shall I wait for the insults to start rolling, or leave in the interval?”
“You didn’t say anything,” I say, laughing. “Not yet, anyway.”
I can feel his gaze flickering over me as I shrug into the white hotel robe.
“You’re talking in riddles,” he mutters. “I hate riddles. I don’t even know how to spell the word.”
“Doesn’t say much for your expensive education, does it?”
“You ending up as my brother’s assistant doesn’t say much for yours. I wasn’t joking when I said you’d have to tie his shoelaces.”
“Stop being mean about my boss.” I finally spy my laptop bag lying next to the desk. I scoot over and start riffling through the mess in the front pocket.
“Your tits look amazing when you’re bending over like that.” Jake’s voice has taken on that husky, aroused tone again.
“Don’t try and sidetrack me. I’m looking for your letter. I didn’t have time to open it before— Ah, here it is.”
Jake is out of bed in a trice and yanking it out of my hand.
“Hey! Give that back, it’s mine!”
But he only jerks it further out of reach.
I scowl at him, tugging the front of my robe together in protest at his high-handed behavior. “What’s going on, Jake?”
“Turns out, my expensive education failed me twice,” he says mildly. “This thing is littered with spelling mistakes. Why spoil a perfectly pleasant evening by finding out the man you’re fucking is an intellectual anticlimax? Come and have a shower with
me instead. I insist.” He holds out his other hand to me.
It’s not a request. He’s wielding sex like a higher authority, and it takes me right back to Cassie’s trailer all those weeks ago.
“Don’t try and sidetrack me,” I huff, forcing my gaze to stay above his waist. He’s naked with a semi, and it’s very distracting. “I know what you’re doing. You know I’m powerless to resist you without any clothes on.”
He cocks his head to one side. “Is that so?”
“I mean it, Jake. Don’t manipulate me. I don’t like it.”
Something in my voice makes him pause. I watch him contemplating my words and the potential of a history behind them.
“Please. Give it back to me.”
“No.” He returns the envelope to my laptop bag. “Save it for the next time the shit hits the fan.”
“What’s that supposed to— Oh!”
He lunges for me and tips me neatly over his left shoulder.
“Put me down!” I shriek, pounding my fists against his perfect, naked, unyielding ass.
“Not until you promise to do as you’re told.”
“When have I ever done that?” I scoff, wriggling frantically.
He stops to consider this before lowering me back to the ground and pulling me against his body. “What if I asked nicely, for once?” he croons, taking my face between his hands.
The effect on me is instantaneous. “Okay.”
He smirks and lets go. “That was easier than expected. I should be nice more often. Just don’t expect it for the rest of the evening. There’s nothing nice about how I’m going to fuck you in this shower.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
We journey back to Erizo the following day, tired but replete. The last twelve hours have inspired a subtle change in both of us. It’s smoothed away some of our spikiness. We’re more relaxed in each other’s company. It’s as if we’ve passed the first test of something that neither of us can define.
With my head resting on his shoulder, I gaze out at the tinted view below. Morocco is a place of muted color and hidden treasures. I’m coming back to life here. London was my prison, and I feel like I’m finally breaking free.
“How old were you when you made your first movie?” I ask him, dragging my thoughts away from the window.
Jake stops tapping on his iPad and reaches for the glass of scotch next to it. “Twenty-one. Straight out of college.” He grimaces as he takes a sip. “Some pretentious, avant-garde, indie bore-fest that shall remain nameless and profitless.”
“It clearly didn’t have an appreciative enough audience.”
“Not much to appreciate.” He takes another sip.
“Did your father like it?”
Jake stiffens at first, but he’s getting used to my mini-inquisitions. He shakes his head. “Never saw it. If it wasn’t made by Global, he wasn’t interested.”
The pretty flight attendant pauses to offer us another drink. I watch her cheeks redden as she turns to address Jake. Damn. Does he have this affect on every woman?
“Glass of water, please,” I say loudly.
She drops her gaze and scuttles away. I guess the water can wait.
“Christ, Charlie, that studio is like a fucking tombstone around my neck.” Jake sinks down into his seat after this gritted-out proclamation, and shuts his eyes.
What just sparked in him, I wonder. Irritation? Disappointment? I know he’ll never turn his back on Global. It’s become too interwoven with his grief.
“If Global was your father’s baby, maybe you could try introducing the toddler years?” I suggest cautiously.
One eyelid cracks open. “How so?”
“Develop a part of the studios as your own. Something you can put your personal stamp on.”
The corners of his mouth tilt. “Fucks like a dream and perceptive as fuck. You might be my perfect woman.” Throwaway comment, Charlie—don’t read anything into it. “You’re right, I do have my own ambitions. I want to establish an art house division. I’m meeting a shitload of resistance from the board, though. They think it’s too risky.”
“What’s life without a little risk?”
Strong words from someone so averse to it.
“What piece of classic literature is that particular pearl of wisdom from?” he drawls.
“The book of Charlie Winters.”
“Sounds like something I’d enjoy.” He pulls me closer and nuzzles into my hair. “Fuck, I’d like to build a bonfire from all the deadwood ideas kicking around Global. We can’t keep on churning out dumb blockbusters forever. Times are changing.” He shifts in his seat and I can tell that he’s really passionate about this. “You’re a natural, Books. You never miss a trick. You should think about staying on in the industry after the movie wraps.”
His comment hits me out of left field. “Are you offering me a job? In L.A.?” I’m stunned. I love making movies. It’s messy, dirty, and fun. I’ve never stuck at anything in my life, but all of sudden I’m excited at the prospect of carving out an actual career for myself. Not to mention moving to another continent, working with Jake again…
“Not with me, though.” It’s a stinging rebuttal wrapped up in four words. “I have contacts in London who can help. They’ll show you how to spot a movie script’s appeal and marketability, how to wring every last cent out of a budget—”
“I thought that was more of your brother’s forte?” I joke, feeling like an idiot. Of course there’s no future for us. Silly me. Even if I wanted it, this man does one-night stands with limited extensions only.
To my surprise, Jake starts laughing. It’s a rare and wonderful sound. “Touché!” he says, kissing the top of my head.
“How long until our flight lands?” I ask, thinking fast.
He checks his wristwatch. “Forty minutes or so. Why?”
But I can tell he’s thinking the same as I am, because the next thing I know he’s dragging me into the private bedroom at the back of the plane and flinging me onto the bed. I feel his mouth on the hollow of my collarbone and then on the side of my jaw before my vision starts to blur.
I wish we could stay locked together like this forever.
I wish he didn’t have serious commitment issues.
I wish my past didn’t haunt me.
“Have you ever dreamed of fucking a famous movie producer at thirty thousand feet?” he demands suddenly, yanking me back to the bedroom as he pushes up my T-shirt and pulls down my bra.
My nipples are stiff peaks in anticipation. His words are like a lit match to my lust. “Why do you ask?”
He slides off my underwear and tosses it over his shoulder. “Because in less than twenty seconds, Charlie Winters, you’ll be scratching that one straight off your bucket list.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
“I’m going to murder Max for this. He’s getting sliced and diced with a blunt carving knife, and then I’m going to bury his body under this patio— Ouch!”
Another shard of glass slices into the soft pad of my thumb, leaving a trickle of crimson pain in its wake.
“On second thought, that death is too good for him. I’m driving him out into the middle of the Sahara and leaving him for the camels.”
“Hungry ones that haven’t been fed in weeks,” agrees Rachel, jumping down from a stepladder to grab another box of fairy lights. “Even I’d pay good money to see that.”
We wrapped the movie today, and there’s a strange atmosphere hanging over the hotel. It’s like the aftermath of a war—fatigue mixed with triumph and sadness. The wrap party is scheduled for later, but with most of the crew languishing in each other’s beds, the lion’s share of the organizational stuff has fallen to Rachel and me. Max, in a fit of creative liberalism, wants the entire courtyard decorated with fairy lights.
Either that, or he’s unleashi
ng a new seduction technique on the only remaining runner he hasn’t screwed yet.
Eight hundred boxes of lights have been sourced and shipped to Erizo, but many have sustained damage during transit. We’ve been sorting them out all afternoon, and I’m sick to death of it. So is Rachel. Her usual sunny expression settled into a permanent scowl about four hours ago.
“Is this as irritating as it looks?”
Jake strolls into the courtyard looking every damn letter of the word “handsome.” He’s come straight from the hotel gym, and his hair is still damp. He hasn’t had a haircut since we’ve been in Morocco, and it’s curling in tendrils at the nape of his neck. Golden tan. White T-shirt. Black Ray Bans. Body ripped and lean…
All of a sudden, that rabbit hole has never seemed so steep.
“More than you can possibly imagine,” I say, looking away hastily to admire our handiwork. “We still have twenty more boxes to go.”
He swipes off his sunglasses and glares at all the untangled lights on the patio flagstones. I’m amazed he let his brother get away with this. “Want a hand?”
Rachel gasps, and there’s a sickening crunch as another box of lights hits the ground.
“I’m game if you are,” I say, grinning at her stunned expression. “Shall we find out if media billionaires have transferable skills?”
“You’d be surprised by what I excel at,” he murmurs.
Three cheers for the double entendre. We’ve been screwing in secret for weeks now. There’s nothing this man isn’t good at.
Picking up the box closest to him, his fingers get to work on a particularly tricky knot. He’s so dexterous it’s sending my brain into fantasy overload. As if willed by my lust, he glances up and catches me staring. The quirk of his eyebrows tells me he knows exactly what I’m thinking about.
“Later,” he mouths, making my head spin.
I’m all fingers, thumbs, and brooding brain cells now. I keep dropping the gaffer tape, then forgetting the lights when I climb back up the ladder to connect them to the outside socket.
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