by Cat Johnson
He turned his head, refusing to look at her, choosing instead to focus on the wall behind her. He didn’t touch her but she could feel his heart thundering beneath her hands.
She’d hurt him but she hadn’t meant to. She just wanted him to stop acting like an idiot on set.
There was no excuse for his jealousy. She might pretend to have sex on camera with other men, but he was the one she came home to every night. The only one she wanted to go to bed with for real.
After being with her for over two years, he should be used to this life. Obviously, he wasn’t.
Yes, this particular movie was hotter than her usual, but Rick needed to get over it. This script had Oscar nomination written all over it and Jamey was a huge new name on the scene that might just revive a career that she was beginning to fear was nearing its sunset years.
Women didn’t age well in Hollywood. If doing a couple of sex scenes with a hot young star like Jamey would buy her a few more years at the top of the box office, then she was going to do it.
Rick needed to understand that. Still, her insulting his intelligence wasn’t going to help the situation.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Sorry you said it? Or sorry you mean it?” he asked, hurt and anger making his voice deeper, raspier, than usual.
That voice, low and sensual against her ear in bed, had always gotten to her. She loved it then, when it was caused by passion. She didn’t enjoy it now. It was one more reminder how deeply she’d cut him with her words.
“Rick, I say things I don’t mean all day long—”
He pinned her with his gaze. “When you’re with me it’s supposed to be different. We’re supposed to be real.”
“We are real.” She pressed closer to his body.
He breathed in again, his chest expanding against her, but still he didn’t touch her or hold her, just when she really needed him to.
“I didn’t mean it. I’m so sorry I said it.” Raising on tip-toe in her high heels she pressed a kiss to his chin, then to the corner of his mouth.
His gaze dropped to hers as she moved and brushed her lips against his.
“I’m so sorry,” she repeated, before taking the kiss deeper.
Finally, he tossed the T-shirt and socks he’d had clenched in one fist onto the chair nearby.
He raised his hands and rested them on her arms, but for a second she wasn’t sure if it was to pull her closer or push her away. Then he was kissing her back.
Rick took possession of her mouth with a passion that reminded her of the days when they’d first met. Back when they’d argue themselves into a frenzy and work off the anger in bed.
Was that what this was for him? Anger-fueled hate-sex?
As much as she didn’t want to believe that, she’d take it, because any contact with him was preferable to being frozen out.
He ran his hands down to cup her ass and haul her up until her feet left the ground.
She wrapped her legs around his waist as he carried her to the bedroom.
He tossed her onto the bed and followed her down, his bulk pressing her into the mattress. She loved the weight of him on top of her. It made her feel safe, taken, wanted.
While his head was buried against her neck, he shoved the waistband of his shorts down and the skirt of her dress up.
Maybe Jamey was right when he’d said their sex scene today felt fake. Here, now, with Rick, there were no long soulful glances. No slow tender touches. Just raw need.
That was the last work-related notion she had as thick fingers pushed her underwear aside and Rick sought and found his end goal. He worked her fast and hard with his hand before he reached down and lined up his length with her entrance.
He plunged deep inside, driving the breath from her lungs and all rational thought from her head.
Hooking one hand behind her knee, he lifted her leg and opened her to him, taking her deeper.
She watched the raw emotion on his face as, with his eyes slammed tightly closed, he loved her hard and fast. She watched until he opened his eyes and saw her watching.
His gaze narrowed as he changed position, rising onto his knees as he lifted her bottom and shoved a pillow beneath her.
He knew exactly what he was doing. The new angle made it so his every thrust hit her G-spot until she couldn’t hold her eyes open any longer.
Throwing her head back against the pillow, she clutched at his forearms as she gasped. He waited for her to come and followed immediately after, matching her spasms with his strokes until, spent, he collapsed on top of her.
“I love you,” she said, her words muffled against his chest.
“Do you?” he asked, lifting up and rolling his weight off her and onto his side.
She frowned. “You know I do.”
He closed his eyes briefly, before opening them again on an exhale. Where there had been anger before, there was now a turmoil of emotions. If she weren’t mistaken, shame among them.
“I know. I just can’t take it. I thought I could but, Sierra, it’s so hard.” He blew out a bitter laugh. “We spend so much time in public, I don’t even think of you as Carey anymore. It’s like our whole life together is fake.”
She pinned him with her gaze. “This—you and me—that’s not fake.”
“On set it sure feels that way. I think a total of one guy knows we’re together. Everyone else just thinks I’m your bodyguard.”
“You want to come out as a couple? Fine. We’ll do it. I’ll get my publicist on it, if that’s what you want. But trust me when I tell you, you’re not going to like it.”
He lifted a shoulder. “Maybe I will.”
“No maybe about it, Rick. I know you. All it’s going to take is the paparazzi getting in your face, hounding you while you’re running or working out or going to the store or whatever and you’re going to regret ever linking your name with mine romantically in public.”
“I’d never regret that.”
She saw the hurt and doubt in his eyes again. “I’m not trying to hide you. I’m trying to protect you.”
“I’m a big boy. And it’s my job to protect you, not the other way around.”
“You might have been a SEAL, but you’re swimming with the sharks now, Rick.”
His lips twitched. “How long you been waiting to use that line?” he asked.
The mood had lifted a bit. She could feel it and she grabbed on to the ray of light. “I just thought of it. Pretty good, huh?”
“Eh, it was all right.” He tried and failed to control a hint of a crooked smile.
She brushed a hand over the corner of his mouth and cupped his cheek. “I love you. I want to be with you. And I’ll only ever come home to you.”
He watched her for a second, as if evaluating the truth in her words. “I love you too. I’m sorry I’ve been a dick. But seriously, that fucking cock sock—”
She laughed. She couldn’t help it. He frowned, glaring at her.
“I’m sorry, but hearing the words cock sock coming out of your mouth, I couldn’t help myself.”
“Yeah, well I’m not going to be able to control myself if I have to keep seeing it.” He snorted out a breath. “But I’ll try my best.”
“That’s all I can ask. The only easy day was yesterday, you know.” She proudly quoted the words printed on one of his T-shirts, but it only earned her a frown.
“That’s not helpful,” he said, pulling his mouth to the side unhappily.
“I don’t get points for my Navy SEAL knowledge?” She put on a pretend pout.
“No. But you might get some sushi take-out since I’m starving and willing to go out and get it for us.”
“They will deliver, you know.”
“And take an extra hour to do it, and then the hot food will be getting cold and the cold food will be getting warm.” He shook his head. “Nope. I’ll go out for it. You can stay here.”
That was a good plan since she needed a post-coital shower. On top of that, she ha
d some work to do before tomorrow’s scenes.
“Okay. I can read over the new pages for tomorrow. Shit.” She huffed out an annoyed breath when she remembered the last place she’d been looking over those pages.
“What?” he asked.
“I left them in my trailer.” She’d been so flustered by Rick’s continued disappearances from the set today, and his storming around looking angry during the times that he was there, it was no surprise she’d been scattered. “I guess I could study the pages in the makeup chair tomorrow morning—”
“No. It’s fine. I’ll call in the order, run by the lot, and by the time I grab your pages, the food should be ready.”
“You are so organized. Must be that military training.” She smiled.
He rolled his eyes. “Is this your attempt at flattery?”
“Maybe. Is it working to cheer you up?”
“That little white lace nighty of yours will work better,” he said.
“Duly noted.” She nodded and delivered a salute in an attempt to make him laugh again.
She wasn’t disappointed. Rick shook his head but smiled as he pulled on his shorts again.
“The usual order for you?” he asked as he bent to retrieve his sneakers from the floor of the closet.
“Yup.”
“All right. I’ll be back in a bit.” He leaned over her on the bed and pressed a kiss to her mouth.
She watched him walk through the door and into the living room, enjoying the view of his back muscles until he pulled on his T-shirt.
Maybe she shouldn’t get annoyed that he spent so much time at the gym after all.
CHAPTER 3
Rick liked the movie lot a hell of a lot better when it was deserted.
Tonight, all he’d seen so far were the guard at the gate and a couple of maintenance guys.
Perfect. If only it could be like this all the time. Quiet. Peaceful.
“Yeah, I know. She’s sweet, right?” The sound of Jamey’s voice coming from around the other side of the trailer stopped Rick dead in his tracks.
Not so peaceful after all.
Apparently he wasn’t the only one who’d come back to the lot after hours. He stopped walking and pressed closer to the trailer, inching his way toward the corner so he could hear better.
Rick used all of his stealth SEAL skills . . . to eavesdrop on his girlfriend’s co-star.
He wasn’t as ashamed about that as he probably should be, although it wasn’t lost on him how much his life—and his focus—had altered radically since being medically retired from the teams.
His abilities used to be employed in life and death situations.
As he hid in the shadows, waiting for Jamey to say more, Rick couldn’t ignore exactly how much his blown out knee had changed his future. It was about as much as meeting Sierra had changed his world.
“No, not yet,” Jamey said. “But she’s gonna be mine. I promise you that. I’ll do whatever the fuck I have to to get her.”
The red haze of uncontrolled rage clouded Rick’s brain.
Fists clenched as tightly as his jaw, he took another step forward, not caring that it put him in view of the man he’d been avoiding being seen by.
“Yeah. I’m gonna see if I can get her away from her owner tonight. Take her out for another spin.”
Rick dragged in a breath as he started to shake.
Another spin. What the fuck?
Was Sierra cheating on him, and with this son of a bitch who’d just admitted she belonged to someone else? To Rick?
There was no controlling himself.
Fist clenched, Rick strode forward, reared back and swung as hard as he could, throwing all six-feet-two-inches and two-hundred pounds of solid muscle behind the punch.
It was enough to send the cell phone flying out of Jamey’s hand before it spun the man around and sent him sprawling face down on the ground.
He flopped onto his back, touching the side of his face where Rick’s punch had possibly broken his cheekbone. Though that wasn’t easy to see through the blood gushing from the cut the punch had also caused.
Jamey looked completely stunned, as if unable to comprehend what had happened or who’d done it.
Panting and shaking with the adrenaline that still pumped through his veins, Rick loomed over the man on the ground. He had no problem letting Jamey know exactly who had put him there and why.
Finally, Jamey looked like he could focus his eyes and his rattled brain on Rick. “Jesus. What was that for?”
Rick clenched his fist again and felt the numbness beginning to be replaced with pain.
Throbbing, intense pain.
He’d punched this guy so hard, he’d be lucky if he hadn’t broken his hand.
Fuck it. It had been worth it.
Besides, somewhere in the back of his brain—the part that could still reason through the anger—Rick realized the pain of broken bones would be nothing compared to the pain of Sierra cheating on him.
Once he let that fully settle in—once the anger and adrenaline fled—there’d be nothing but heartache. And he wouldn’t even be able to punch his way out of it at the gym thanks to this bastard’s face breaking his hand.
That made him even madder. Jaw clenched, he said, “That’s for fucking my girlfriend.”
Jamey shook his head, still looking dazed. “What are talking about?”
“Sierra.”
The guy’s one eye widened as the other started to swell shut. “You’re her boyfriend? I just thought you were just her bodyguard.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not just her bodyguard.” Rick moved in closer and Jamey held up his hands in a defensive move.
“All right. All right. It doesn’t matter anyway, because I’m not having sex with her. What we do on set, that’s all fake. You do know that, right?” Jamey struggled to sit up, and settled for bracing himself on one elbow while still lying on the ground and once again fingering his face.
“She’s sweet. I’m gonna make her mine. I don’t care about her owner. I’m taking her out for another spin tonight.” Rick mimicked the pretty boy in the most unflattering voice he could muster before glaring at him once again and allowing his own baritone to return. “Sound familiar, asshole?”
Jamey’s mouth dropped open. “That’s what this is about? My phone conversation?”
“Yeah, dickhead. It’s about your bragging about fucking Sierra.” The rage began to return as images of them rolling around naked had Rick seeing red.
He stepped forward, which had him standing over the guy, straddling him, which is when Jamey had the nerve to let out a laugh.
How stupid could a man be?
“Oh, I wouldn’t be laughing if I were you.” Rick bent, about to haul him up by his overpriced shirt so he could knock him down again, when Jamey shook his head.
“Dude. I was talking about a bike.”
With a handful of Jamey’s T-shirt twisted in his left fist, Rick frowned. “What?”
“I’m buying a vintage motorcycle. The owner’s being a dick and playing hardball about the price. I was going to drive over tonight, take it for another ride and see if he’ll come down on the price.”
Shit. Rick released his hold and took a step back.
Jamey gingerly touched his cheek. “I guess I’ll be going to the ER instead.”
The regret, along with the dread of what kind of fallout he’d just brought down on himself, made Rick feel almost as bad as when he’d thought Sierra had cheated on him.
Jamey hissed in a breath and dropped his hand from his face. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”
His regret didn’t instill any pity in Rick. Had the pretty boy never gotten punched before? Big baby.
“It ain’t pretty,” Rick told him, not sugar coating the words.
“The director is gonna freak. This could stall production. The continuity is going to be fucked if make-up can’t hide this shit.”
The movie. Shit. Rick had momentarily forgotten about that, but pre
tty boy was right. Delays cost extra money and that made the producers insane.
Rick evaluated pretty boy’s cheek again. It was rapidly blowing up.
Yeah, make-up wasn’t going to cover that. The black eye and bruising that would probably come next—maybe—but not that swelling. And he’d probably need a couple of stitches for the cut. The blood was already beginning to soak Jamey’s shirt.
Angry—at himself for losing control and at pretty boy for making him—Rick knew he had to make this right.
He reached down a hand to Jamey. “Come on. I’ll drive you to the hospital.”
After a few seconds, Jamey took the offered help and Rick hauled him upright.
Rick glanced around and spotted Jamey’s cell phone where it had landed about ten feet away. He picked it up and held his breath, hoping it wasn’t cracked since it was probably one of those new ones that cost as much as most people’s rent for the month.
Luckily it was in a sturdy case. He handed it to Jamey, who took it with a grunt of thanks before shoving it into his pocket with the hand that wasn’t trying to stop the flow of blood.
Rick had a napkin in his pocket from lunch, when he’d managed to choke down some foo-foo veggie wrap in between antacids and sex scenes.
He thrust it at Jamey. “Here, hold this on that cut. It’s not clotting.”
Jamey pressed the napkin to his cheek. “No surprise. Face wounds always bleed like a mother fucker.”
Rick let out a snort. Even though what Jamey had said was the truth, he seriously doubted this guy had any first hand experience in wounds of any variety. Maybe paper cuts from opening his royalty checks.
“Had a lot of face wounds, have you?” Rick asked, not hiding the sarcasm in his tone.
Jamey shot him a sideways glance as they began to walk. “A few.”
“Plastic surgery?” Rick suggested, feeling petty.
Jamey swiveled his head to look at Rick full on. “You really hate me, don’t you?”
Rick opened his mouth, then shut it again, not sure what to say. Finally, he opted on saying nothing.
Shaking his head, Jamey continued, “No, not plastic surgery. I grew up in the foster care system. I was ten the first time my cheekbone was broken. I was eighteen the second time. At least I won money during that fight. Though most of it went to the doctor. So, sorry to tell you, but you don’t get the honor of being the first one to make me bleed or send me to the ER.”