by Tina Reber
“Just take a deep breath. I want you to try to forget that you’re an actor and her co-star for a moment so you can start thinking like a producer. This is a business.
“First, calmly talk to Parker. You know that nothing can be resolved with you yelling at him.”
“I know,” he agreed, “but I’m so fucking pissed and—”
“I know, honey. You put a stop to filming so now they have no choice but to deal with it.”
“I’m not going back out there. There’s no fucking way.”
“Talk to Jonathan. Come up with a plan. Her drug usage has halted production and therefore is putting this film in jeopardy. They are going to act on this now. I’m sure there are a ton of legal and contractual ramifications here to deal with that we have to consider. Then discuss how to confront her and attempt to resolve this.”
Ryan nodded. “I can’t believe she’d be so stupid. I suspected something was up from the moment I saw her but I didn’t say anything. And then during our scene yesterday . . . that’s when I knew for sure.”
Now I knew his odd behavior wasn’t just because I was watching him have pretend sex.
“If she’s stupid enough to risk what could potentially be a turning point in her career over drugs,” I told him, “then she deserves to deal with whatever ramifications come from it. She isn’t a child. This is all stuff you have to learn to deal with if you’re going to be an executive producer of your own films. You have to consider everything objectively.”
He seemed to acquiesce. “You’re right. All of it. Especially if we start our own production company like we talked about.”
I nodded. “But . . .” I waited until he made eye contact. “She’s young and she’s doing foolish things messing with drugs like this. You need to help her.”
Ryan’s face twisted. “Help her?”
“Yes, help her. Listen, I know you are furious, but there’s obviously some serious issues plaguing her if she’s using such a hard drug like that.”
“And that’s my problem?”
I knew he was lashing out at the situation and not at me. “Yes, babe, it is. Instead of filming, you’re in here fuming. People just don’t do drugs for the hell of it. Well, maybe some do, but meth? She’s been looking strung-out for a week, so I’m pretty sure this isn’t recreational usage going on. That girl is in serious need of an intervention.”
“Because someone told her she was looking fat or something stupid, this is now my problem? Fucking great.”
“Everyone deserves a second chance. You’ve just called her out on it in front of everyone. Who knows?
Maybe she’s scared straight.”
Ryan laughed at the likelihood of that.
“Be a leader, a mentor to her. You know firsthand how it feels to be under pressure. She’s doing drugs because she’s trying to cope with something, and if you go on a tear to get her fired, you never know how bad she could get. Don’t let her become another Hollywood statistic, Ryan. So many others have thrown their lives away on drugs and alcohol. All it takes is for one person to make a difference. Find it in your heart to be the difference.”
His eyebrow rose. “Like she’s going to listen to me.”
“You never know which intervention breaks through.”
At least he considered my suggestion. He stared at me for what felt like forever until he finally said, “You want the role?”
“What?” I recoiled as if he’d tossed a live grenade in my lap.
“Do you want the role?”
“Are you serious?”
“Absolutely. You know the dialogue better than she does and your delivery when we rehearsed was completely natural. You know you can do it. Question is, do you want it?”
Suddenly I was very aware of the wall behind me. “Ryan, you can’t ask me that, nor do you have the authority to offer it.”
Someone knocked on the RV door and then I heard a familiar female voice. “Ryan?” Nicole called out.
I could tell just by how wide his eyes got that Ryan was at a loss for a next move. I took him by the hand for a moment and then opened the trailer door.
Chapter 11
Departure
“I must have been good today to come home to such a sight,” Ryan said when he found me reading on our bed, the sound of his approval resonating around his lascivious grin. He was standing in the doorway, arms folded across his chest, smirking like the Cheshire cat.
It was late, almost ten o’clock at night, and I had anticipated him being wiped out, but I was so damn relieved to see his smile return.
Guess he liked my new cream-colored lace camisole top and matching panties more. It was as far as I had gotten dressed after my shower and exhaustive day keeping up with Anna Garrett and her credit cards. I smiled at him, feeling that thrill he always manages to incite in me with nothing more than a look.
I hadn’t seen him since he left with Mike that morning and I was glad to see he was in a fairly good mood, considering the heaviness of his day. Hopefully his good mood would stay, helping to cushion the talk yet to come. I’d been feeling sick about it all day, but after my phone call with Marie I couldn’t put it off any longer.
My sadness from knowing I’d have to go home soon had me stuck to the bed while my internal giddiness from not seeing Ryan all day had me desiring to jump up and latch my legs around his hips.
Ryan sauntered over; his finger traced over the fine spaghetti strap of my top and down the valley of my spine, sending quivers right into my groin. A soft, throaty growl rolled up his throat. I licked his fingertip when he seductively drifted it over my lip.
“I figure if I’m going to spend your money, I might as well get things you’ll appreciate.”
He flashed his million-dollar smile, the one that makes my knees weak.
Damn, I’ll miss this every day.
Like a big cat mounting its mate, he crawled onto the bed and over the top of me, loving my bare shoulder with his mouth. “Oh, I appreciate. Very. Very. Much.”
His thighs surrounded the outside of mine, dipping his hips to prove his appreciation by letting me feel his denim-clad erection in the cleft of my rear.
I twisted beneath him, flipping over to my back. His tongue swirled with mine, reminding me just how much I missed him today.
“You are so fucking beautiful,” he breathed out on my lips, lowering his body to rest next to me. “I missed you today.”
I smiled, thrilled to know he felt the same way. I brushed his hair from his eyes when he rested his head on my chest.
It had been three days since the methamphetamines meltdown and everyone’s lawyer and manager was in town to hold hands and lord over the situation. “I heard you did an excellent job this morning,” I said, kissing his forehead.
He sighed. “You’re banned from hanging around Anna.”
I pushed back a little to see his face. “Why? She’s the one who gave me the nod of approval on this outfit.”
Ryan held up one finger. “I retract the ban.” He gave me a reassuring smirk. “I figured she’d fill you in.”
He mumbled something about hens and gossip. If he only knew the half of it. After spending so much time with her, I had dirt on half of Hollywood.
“Anna was very impressed with the way you handled yourself. You still okay with the decision?”
His shoulder rose and fell. “Don’t have much choice, do I? She cried again when I said she’s lucky she didn’t get fired today. Nicole better keep her nose clean this time. She gets caught using again and that’s it.”
His eyes locked on mine. “I’m almost hoping she messes up. I told Jonathan you’d be a good replacement.”
Surprise and some annoyance jolted into my chest. “I’m not an actress, Ryan. You shouldn’t have done that.”
He propped his head up. “Why? What are you afraid of?”
Oh, not much. The media making a huge production out of my transition? False accusations of me using you to get ahead? Incorrect theories t
hat this is some sort of publicity stunt? Having your career negatively impacted because of it?
“It’s a bad idea.”
He frowned at me. “You’re a natural, you know.”
The thought made me shiver, knowing his view was biased. “If I’m going to ever go that route I want to earn it, not have it handed to me.”
Ryan’s lips twisted. “You’re the only person who would see it that way.”
Somehow I highly doubted that. “The gossip magazines would have a field day, Ryan. You know it as well as I do. You don’t need that looming around your public persona. It will be bad enough when things are said about my small cameo.”
“Could be your debut.”
I rolled my eyes.
“What?” he sniggered, dropping his arm onto my paper pile. He picked up a few of the pages I was reading and glanced at them. I saw his eyes turn skeptically quizzical. “What’s all this?” He scrutinized the papers.
“Anna gave me some documents to look at; financials and stuff.”
He flipped through several of the sheets, becoming more and more intrigued as he panned through.
“This is for Slipknot. Why the hell do you have . . .? Are you . . . are you supposed to have this stuff? This is the agreement with their production company, Light Reel Pictures.”
He toggled from gaping at the pages in hand to gaping at me, as if I’d committed a horrendous crime.
“Production agreements, Light Reel’s contract . . . Holy shit, Taryn.”
I took some of the pages from his hand, trying to lessen the breach, knowing that even he wasn’t privy to some of the agreements made to get Slipknot filmed. “She gave them to me in confidence. We’ve been talking a lot and I had questions. I think she’s made a pet project out of me.”
“Don’t let anyone know you have these,” he advised, admonishing my risky behavior.
I snatched the last few pages from his hand, incensed that he’d think I was that careless. I made a nice, neat pile, forgoing the last page I studied for the betterment of recouping the evidence. “I know. Don’t you tell anyone I have them, either.”
His head tilted. “Why do you have all of that?”
I looked over at him. “Someone’s got to run our production company.”
Hoping to sidetrack his reproach, I pulled from the bottom of my pile the log home architectural design book he had asked me to get. “Here. I got this for you. Build me a house, oh Captain, my Captain.”
Shiny object diversion. “Oh cool.” He flopped over onto his belly, thumbing through it. “Did you see any designs you like?”
I shook my head. “I like them all.”
A faint noise caught my attention. “Is Mike downstairs?”
“No.”
His voice was tinged with a hint of sadness, as if he missed his friend.
“Ryan, I really don’t mind if he hangs out here with us. He’s not just your head of security anymore.
Why don’t you call him and tell him to come over. I’ll make some of those quesadillas you guys love so much.”
Ryan stalled, appearing apprehensive. “He’s ah . . . got other plans tonight.”
“What’s he up to?”
Ryan ignored me to go take a shower. I had almost fallen asleep when I felt Ryan shift off the bed and then something pointy tickle my butt cheek. “What are you doing?”
“Never mind,” he instructed, palming my thigh in his hand. “Just go back to doing what you were doing and don’t worry about it.”
I looked over my shoulder. “That’s a freaking permanent marker, Ryan!”
“It will wash off . . . eventually. Hold still.”
“Honey, please don’t draw on my ass.”
“Shush.” He pushed the edge of my underwear out of his way. “This is my ass. Mine. Property of,” he said matter-of-factly.
I groaned as he palmed my rear, his rogue finger brushing oh so cleverly between the juncture of my thighs, twitching, tickling. He knew exactly what he was doing to me.
“So,” I breathed out, very aware of my bottom, “does that mean I own your ass, too?”
“Damn straight,” he murmured. “Own. Rule. My body is yours. Feeling in the mood to play with it? I’ll let you.”
I felt the excitement that his words stirred in me. “Let me? I didn’t know I needed permission to play with my toys. I thought that was the benefit of being an only child. Never having to share.”
Ryan frowned, returning to his drawing. “Nick used to enjoy breaking my toys. Whenever he was pissed at me he’d snap my shit into pieces.”
The thought of Nick being nasty to Ryan saddened me. I frowned, wishing I could take away those bad memories.
He was so engrossed, I peered over my shoulder. “Are you having fun? Did I get an official Ryan Christensen autograph?”
Ryan chuckled. “What are your feelings about getting matching tattoos?”
Several thoughts flashed at once, starting with “pain” and “needles” and then quickly followed by the question of whether he was seriously considering permanently inking my right ass cheek with his name.
The next thoughts flooded in like a film in fast-forward—all swirling around the several tattoos that adorned Thomas’s luscious body; the tribal art that wrapped around Thomas’s chiseled left hip like a beacon to Wonderland.
I had to clear my throat. “I’ve considered a tattoo once. Never went through with it, though. Why? Are you thinking of other ways to mark your property?”
He shrugged, downplaying it, but I could tell that he was seriously considering it. “Just thought it might be cool. I’ve been thinking about getting one for a long time. Thought maybe we’d have the same symbol or something.”
I tried to see what he was drawing, but it only looked like a box with scribbling next to it.
“What is that?”
“I’m making an airport. This is the terminal and this here is the landing strip. Stop moving! My jumbo jet needs to land.”
I quickly rolled over onto my side.
“Hey! Oh, what—you don’t care if hundreds of passengers plummet to their death in the ocean?
You’re so mean.” His once-determined face now looked completely dejected. He was such a good actor.
I smiled at him, snatched the black marker from his hand, and climbed onto him. “Why? Is your jet packed with navy seamen? Let me draw on your ass. I want to carve my initials on my property.”
Even though he had been up since five thirty this morning, he moved with lightning-quick speed to undo his towel and roll onto his belly, so willing to let me draw on his body.
“Property . . . of . . . Taryn . . . Mitchell.” I wrote in script letters on his tight, bare bottom. I drew a little heart at the end to finish it off.
Ryan glanced over his shoulder. “You done?”
“Yep.”
He grabbed the marker out of my hand and tossed it in the general direction of the nightstand.
“Come here,” he said, slipping a hand behind my head to pull me down to his mouth. He tasted deliciously minty. The fragrances of his body wash and shampoo wove me into a familiar cocoon of favorite scents. Gently, he rolled me over onto my back. His fingers wove and tensed into my hair, holding my head in his hand, silently telling me he’d never let me go.
For me, kissing Ryan Christensen was like drinking instant passion. Arousal tore through my body, awakening the hunger for his touch that always lies just below my surface.
He kissed my cheek, that tender spot under my jaw, down to the nape of my neck. His hand slipped over my stomach, brushing fingertips over my ribs, working my camisole top up higher to expose my skin.
His lips skated over the lace, finding my raised nipple with a gentle bite of his teeth.
My top was unceremoniously tossed to the floor. I threaded my fingers into his damp hair as he tongued and sucked my breast. His hand slid under my panties; he groaned once when he realized I had shaved myself bare and then a second time, louder,
when he felt how slick I was for him. “Fuck, baby,”
he breathed out softly, reverently, slipping his tongue back into my mouth.
Slowly he climbed on top of me, using his knees to nudge my thighs farther apart. Kneeling up, he reached for my panties, taking them down painstakingly slow, as if he were savoring the view.
I raised my legs, feeling the silk pass over my ankles. Ryan took my calf in hand, placing my leg back to where it rested on the other side of his leg.
“Let me see.” He whispered his request, and I parted my legs for him. He sucked in a sharp breath. I could see the heat rising in his cheeks, tinting him with a glorious flush.
His fingers drifted over my bare flesh. “God, you’re beautiful,” he breathed out. I felt my own breath hitch as he gazed at me with such raw and unfettered adoration.
I ran my hand down his muscular chest, over the ripples of his defined abs, mesmerized by his amazing body as he worshipped mine.
“I love you,” I said, holding his gaze. His head swayed and he lowered himself onto his forearms to kiss me.
“I love you more,” he vowed into my mouth.
Ryan kissed his way down my body, licking the smooth skin of my stomach just below my belly button, pressing my thighs wide open. I gazed down at his blue eyes, so eager to watch my reaction. I watched his eyes close as he drifted into the fierce direction of pleasuring me. His free hand pressed up over my ribs, then pinched and pulled my nipple.
“Oh, oh God . . .” I think I just said that out loud. Didn’t take him long to send me flying over the edge.
He wiped his chin off on the back of his hand and crawled like a hungry animal up the bed.
Before I knew it I was on top of him, feeling my body adjust around each glorious inch as I slipped
down to fully take him in.
“Oh, Tar,” he moaned, pulling me tight to his chest, his forearm and hand holding my body to his while his other hand guided my rear. Our kisses turned to open-mouth pants, nose brushing nose, lips resting on lips for leverage. His long fingers threaded into my hair. “You feel so good,” he breathed, gazing directly into my eyes, before locking his mouth back on mine.