by Nikki Steele
She shook my hand, and we turned back to the throng of kids digging into boxes. They were pulling out burritos, boxes of corn chips, salsa and guacamole, and bottled water and soda.
“The kids look forward to this all week,” she explained. “They can’t wait to see ‘Mr. Archer’.”
“It certainly is a good thing he’s doing,” I said. I meant it too; another tick on an increasingly long list. I’d arrived at the film studios thinking he’d be a rich fat cat with sleazy hands and a tight fist. Instead I found him not just trying to save the world, but his neighborhood, too.
“He’s smart about how he does it,” the administrator commented as another screaming child ran by. “These kids come from underprivileged families—they eat whatever they can afford. That usually means junk food.”
She wrapped her arms around herself. “He knew they wouldn’t eat salads— what kid likes a salad?—so he gets them Mexican, instead. It’s like hiding broccoli in the mashed potato, except here it’s fresh, healthy, organic food wrapped in a burrito. I can almost guarantee it will be the best meal they have all week.”
When we got back into the SUV, full of nothing now but empty boxes, we sat in satisfied silence for several minutes.
“That was really something,” I said, finally. I wasn’t sure what else to say. Words didn’t feel strong enough to sum up the experience I’d just partaken in. The look of joy on all those faces. The look of joy on Archer’s. I had shivers up and down my arms.
I reached over to squeeze his leg. “You’re a good man.”
“It was nothing, really. I think I get more out of it sometimes than the kids.”
I laughed. “And that’s why you’re a good man!”
He started the car and I looked out the window, feeling that certain kind of satisfaction you only get from helping people. It was only after several moments that I realized my hand was still on his leg. And he hadn’t removed it.
Chapter 6
“It’s dark. Super awesome,” I joked. “In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I don’t need any help tripping over my feet.”
Archer had asked me where I wanted to eat after our food run. I’d told him somewhere cheap, with a nice view. We were now standing at the entrance to one of his enormous movie production hangars. I’d never been inside one before, but I knew they were four stories high, and expansive.
“Are we eating on one of your sets?” I continued. “I guess that would be cheap…”
He laughed. “Not quite. Although your choice of words is interesting, this is just a detour.” He walked me forward into the darkness. “Here, stand here,” he said. “I’ll get the lights.”
I waited, hands clasped, in the middle of a soundstage. I heard him move away from me, his footsteps echoing. I could see vague shapes looming all around and suddenly I was terrified—in that strange way only darkness can make a person feel afraid.
Then the lights came on, one group at a time. Pinks, yellows, whites, blues. As they did, I gasped.
“What do you think?”
I was standing in the middle of a beautiful jungle glade. Scattered moss and leaves dusted the uneven floor; gnarled trunks clung to lichen covered rocks before me. “Freaking hell,” I whispered.
I turned in a slow circle. Behind me, it was obvious we were on a movie set. Cameras were aligned in a row, with spotlights shining down from the roof. The door we had come from was directly behind. But ahead—it was like looking through a mirror into another world; a richly forested jungle with trees that towered high above. I walked cautiously forward, half expecting a snake to slither around a tree branch when I did.
“It’s the setting for a documentary we’re creating on Amazon tribes,” Archer said, striding toward me from the console he’d been at. He reminded me vaguely of a panther, with his lithe, powerful body. “We’ve mapped and recreated several parts of the jungle here, so that our presenters can film fully clothed while discussing tribes and habits.”
He reached my side, and put a hand to his mouth as if about to tell me a secret. “They don’t wear any clothes there,” he whispered loudly. “And it would be bad form if we did in their presence.”
“Archer, this is amazing!”
He grinned. “I thought you might like it.”
“Can we eat here?” I was carrying our picnic—burritos wrapped in foil, nachos with guacamole and salsa, and a bottle of red wine.
He shook his head, but grinned again. “Nope. Like I said, this is just a detour. We needed to go through here to get to where we’re going.
I frowned. “Through the jungle? Where exactly are we eating?”
He took my hand. “Well, it’s actually like you said. We’re eating on one of my sets—on the roof, to be precise.
* * *
“You never cease to amaze me—you know that, don’t you?”
We’d walked up a fire escape on the far side of the jungle and emerged into starlit paradise. If this stage hadn’t been so large, I would have sworn it was another movie set. Behind us, the million twinkling lights of Los Angeles glittered and sparkled; before us, nine iconic letters spelt out the word HOLLYWOOD on a distant hill.
Our legs were dangling through an old white railing that lined the rooftop. Archer was pouring expensive wine into two cheap plastic cups.
During the day the studio was busy and full of bustle. But by night up here, alone on the roof—it was like there were just the two of us, alone in the entire world. He handed me a drink. “So,” he asked, taking a sip from his own glass, then looking out into the distance, “did I do good?”
“Are you talking about the meal, the view, or the 500 happy, hungry children you fed earlier? Do you really do this every week?”
He nodded, biting into his burrito. “I do. Well, the feeding the kids thing, anyway. I’ve never taken anyone else up here before. It’s kind of my own special little spot. If you ever can’t find me when it’s time to sign boring reports, this is where I’ll be.”
I chuckled. “I’m honored you’d tell me that.” Then my face turned somber. “In seriousness though… thank you. This is really special.”
“I… wanted to. I’ve been thinking about taking you up here for a while now.” He shifted. “Anyway, enough of that—otherwise, you’ll start thinking your boss is a creep. How were your first two weeks at work? Do you think you might get along well with your boss?”
I laughed. “I’ve had worse.”
His grin widened. “In Hollywood, that wouldn’t be hard.”
“I’m sure. I’ve heard horror stories,” I said. “Casting couches, that sort of thing.”
“I don’t want to be that sort of filmmaker,” he said quietly. He looked out toward distant glowing lights. “That world, so focused on the box office and filling seats—that’s not me anymore.
He dipped a corn chip in guacamole. “I love a movie as much as the next person—hell, I’ve made enough of them. But I’m starting to realize that they don’t just have to be for entertainment. They can be forces for good, too. Social change, awareness campaigns, things like that.”
“Is that… what your current project is focused on?” I asked cautiously. He hadn’t said much about it, though of course I knew a lot.
“I’m working on several projects concurrently,” he replied, chewing thoughtfully. “There’s a couple of your more conventional blockbusters in there—a Lord of the Rings style epic set in the land of the Faerie, and an Alice in Wonderland remake as well, but I do those now really just to fund the more personal projects. You saw the Amazon set downstairs already, and I’ve got something I’m working on in pre-production, too.”
I swallowed, already knowing the answer, but needing to ask. “What’s that about?”
“Dirty companies—one in particular,” he said. “It’s a huge company; it has arms in pharmaceuticals, oil and gas, tobacco, even film. In America they are a model of good behavior, but in Third World countries it’s a different story. They sell cigarettes
individually in India, dump waste in Nigeria, employ child labor in China.”
He ran a hand through his hair, then pulled an audio tape from his jacket pocket. “Janus put on such a good front here in America, but I think I’ve finally got something that will bring them down.” He slipped it back where it came from. “You’d be surprised how far they’ll go to achieve their goals. Once the film is finished, I plan to take this straight to the authorities.”
A shiver ran down my spine. Yes, I knew all about how far Janus was willing to go to achieve their goals. It was why they’d made me take the job with Archer. My eyes looked down. The burrito wrapper scrunched tightly in my hands.
Archer’s finger rose to my chin, lifting it. “Hey, where did you go?” he asked. “You just suddenly tensed up.”
“Just thinking about dreams,” I admitted. “How fragile they are. I wonder if there’s a dream being shattered right now, this very minute. I guess the odds are with it, wouldn’t you say?”
“Could be. That’s why we’re going to score one for the little guys,” he said, patting his pocket again.
He had no idea what he was up against. Was he that nice of a guy that he could find out all of the dirty, nasty things Janus was capable of, yet never imagine them turning their sights on him?
“Archer, do you ever… do you ever wonder that these companies might not like what you’re doing to them? That maybe they’re big and nasty enough to want to hurt anyone that gets in their way?”
He shrugged. “I’d be a fool if I didn’t think of that. But what sort of person would I be if I let the bully win? Sooner or later you have to stand up for yourself. You have to say ‘even if this hurts me, it’s worth it, because there are more important things out there.’”
“I… I don’t know if I could be that strong, Archer.”
He smiled. “You could. I know it.
I shook my head. “No you don’t. Some of the things I’ve done-”
His finger went to my lips. “That’s the wrong way to talk. It’s not about what you’ve done. It’s about what you’re going to do next.”
It couldn’t be that simple, could it? I’d done so many things. I was in so deep. And yet, as Archer slipped his arm around my waist, suddenly I felt as if I could do it, if I tried. Whereas before the future had been bleak, now it was tinged with hope. “If I needed to be strong, could you help me?” I asked softly.
“Of course.”
“Even if I couldn’t tell you what it was about?”
His free hand took mine. “Yes. I believe in you,” he said softly. Then he leaned in, and kissed me.
Chapter 7
We tumbled back down the fire escape, kissing all the way, with a vague shared idea that we should find a bed, or at least get indoors. I was still a little unsteady after that kiss—it had undone me, taking me by surprise to leave me weak-kneed and gasping for air.
We made it as far as the forest glade. Could I really change? Could I be a better person? I looked up into Archer’s eyes as his body pressed against me.
I could with his help.
I strained toward him, meeting his kiss with my own. Like the lights in this studio earlier, he’d turned something on, inside of me, and transformed what I could see.
I’d wanted him, ever since I stood in that doorway and gazed upon perfection made into flesh. But I’d been afraid. I’d forbidden myself even the thought, because of what I knew I had to do. Now that I’d chosen a different path, suddenly this night could have a different ending.
I was freed. My heart was light—and it was going to make up for lost time.
I reached for him, grasping his jacket, using it to pull him closer to me and then sliding it from his strong shoulders. I’d wanted to do this for so long that it had infected my dreams. My hands ran over the muscle rippling under his shirt. But reality was better. Because reality could kiss back.
Our mouths came up for air, then went straight back down, kissing with the fury of pent up passion. When we parted a second time, I was gasping for breath. I had never been kissed like this, not even close. His mouth, with its firm lips and probing tongue, set me on fire. I threw his jacket to the floor, now gripping the back of his neck to keep him pressed close.
If his mouth set me on fire, his hands were stoking the blaze. They moved down my back, nails scratching lightly through the cloth of my blouse, then skimmed in a caress over my butt. Even with jeans between us I shivered. I thrust my hips toward him, begging with my body for him to continue.
He thrust back; a hardness at my hip confirming without words that he agreed with my unspoken plea. We didn’t say a word to each other. We didn’t need to.
I slid my hand down his chest, then his torso, tantalizing myself with the feel of his rock hard body. My fingers slipped under his shirt, against his skin. He kissed me again, hard.
When we parted, his eyes had taken on a wild look. He threw me back against a tree, taking my breath away, then took my wrists in his hands and held them above me. His other hand reached for my blouse, and he ripped it, buttons popping as if attached to tissue paper, until it was hanging from my frame. “Do you know how much I’ve wanted to do this, since that first day you walked into my office?” he growled.
My answer was an aroused sob as, still holding my arms up with his other hand, he began to kiss my neck.
“Your blouse covered everything,” he continued, “even your neck! Do you know how much it drove me wild?”
I whimpered into his mouth as he kissed me again.
He released my wrists, taking me by the waist now and crushing me against him. I was bent backward, my head tilted to give him access to my throat. I tangled my fingers in his blonde hair, holding him close to me.
I wanted him to take it further. I needed to show him I felt the same. My hands slid down his stomach, then over the hard bulge in his jeans. I undid the buttons urgently, thrusting my fingers inside to grasp him. My eyes widened when I felt his size. I didn’t think they made them this big!
I grinned. This was going to be fun indeed.
He pushed me up against the tree once more. “I think you forget who’s king of the jungle,” he whispered, a wicked gleam in his eyes. He took my wrists and again held them above my head, then wrapped a fake vine around them to hold me in place.
I didn’t protest. If anything, I couldn’t believe how hot it was. My breasts began to heave from my rapid breaths. I was his, to do with as he pleased.
He ran his fingers gently from my wrists, to my shoulders, then down over my breasts, to the waistband of my jeans. We locked eyes momentarily—the lust I felt was mirrored in his face—then he moved back up to my breasts. He pulled the cups of my bra down roughly, exposing me.
One thumb stroked a nipple, slowly. I moaned as his other hand found its sister. Then he dipped his head.
My back arched against the tree, the air leaving me all at once in a moan as his hot breath met my nipple. He didn’t stop at the noise; instead, his wet tongue began to flick me quickly. Was it possible to be driven insane with pleasure? I was writhing, straining toward him as he delighted me, unable to touch him back, able only to focus on the pleasure and cry.
He moved lower still, trailing slow kisses down my torso. I whimpered in approval when his fingers deftly unbuttoned my jeans, and panted like an animal as he slid them over my hips and down my legs.
“So beautiful,” he murmured, kissing along my panty line.
My head fell back, my breathing ragged and uneven. I needed more of him, and as his mouth moved ever closer I could feel myself growing wetter. “Please,” I whispered. “Please. More.”
I looked down, straining against the vines. He grinned up at me, then hooked his fingers around the waistband of my panties and slid them down. I was exposed; vulnerable. And yet I wasn’t afraid. All I felt was passion and heat.
He stood then, working his own jeans and shorts off; the sight of the bulge I’d felt, enough to make my eyes widen. His large hands were
a good indicator of what he was working with, and I felt myself respond as I saw it standing before me.
He straightened up and moved in close. I needed him, more than I had ever needed anything before. I began to struggle at the vines. I wanted to be free so I could claw at him. I needed to rake my fingers down his back, to seize him by the neck and kiss him, to caress every inch of his body and make it mine.
But I couldn’t. His fingers slipped between my legs and into my moist center; and all I could do was close my eyes and moan in desire. He began to circle, leaning in against me so that I could feel the muscles in his arm moving against my stomach as he worked. The feelings shot color through my closed lids.
I felt movement against me, and opened my eyes. He’d knelt before me. His other hand rose to his mouth, and slowly licked a finger. My eyes widened as I realized what he was about to do. He grinned as he saw my reaction.
The hand approached slowly. I bit my lip to stop from crying out in anticipation. And then it landed, gently, below the other which was still circling. I couldn’t keep quiet now. An expectant moan escaped my lips. Slowly, it pushed inside, lubricated by his saliva—though he needn’t have bothered, I was wet enough already. The circling above got faster, but the speed of that lone finger never changed. The juxtaposed speeds were electrifying—I wanted to scream at him to hurry up, and cry for him to make it last forever, all at the same time.
Eventually, it was in. And I was so worked up I was almost in a frenzy. Every muscle in my body was clenched. Every sense I had was focused on what those two hands were doing below me. One began to move in and out while the other circled; I marveled briefly at the skill required to do that, until I lost even that sense of thought.
He got faster and faster, and now I was floating in the clouds. There wasn’t much higher I could go—I hadn’t thought it was possible even to get this far above reality. The air was getting harder to breath and I was starting to get dizzy. Cries began to issue from me, wordless sobs and noises of pleasure. The intensity of his hands was unrelenting, until suddenly I was screaming his name, and I knew the end was near.