by L. Duarte
Her lips are glued to Jason’s as she kisses her costar for the seventh time. I hate the way the asshole spreads his hands over her, even though I know better.
The sun is almost fully hidden behind the Manhattan skyline, which will end the filming.
She is in her glory, and I can’t help but admire her most incredible beauty. I think about The Merchant of Venice where, in order to marry the heroine Portia, potential suitors had to choose the right casket containing her portrait. Yeah, I reread the Shakespeare’s play. Judge me if you will. And, yes, it scares the shit out of me that I may choose the wrong casket.
OK, I am being melodramatic. Screw it, but I am extremely insecure regarding this woman.
Lights, reflectors, and microphones surround Portia and Jason. The director, pacing from side to side, barks orders at the crew after the cameras capture another kiss.
“Enjoying the filming?” Stefan hands me a Starbucks coffee along with packets of sugar and cream.
“This is great. Thanks, man.”
“They will be done soon.” He smiles, a line of tiredness appears on his face.
“Yeah, who would have thought a twenty-second kiss took so many takes, huh?” I taste the coffee.
“Welcome to the shallow world of Hollywood.” He grins and then sips from his Starbucks’ cup.
I smile at him. “Granted that they make more money in one day than most people makes in a lifetime, they work their asses off,” I reply.
A gush of anger runs up my spine, spreading tension to my shoulders, when Portia’s costar smirks at me before fondling her ass.
“I can testify that our girl is as hard a worker as it gets,” he nods toward Portia.
“Can this be done already?” I cringe when the dude sticks his tongue down Portia’s throat for the eighth time, not that I am keeping tabs.
“Jason is trying to antagonize you. C’mon man, don’t let the ass crawl under your skin.” I hear in Stefan’s voice a dislike of the actor.
“Is it going to be much longer?” I ask, glancing at my watch.
“It will be over in a few. The director wants it to be perfect. This is the very first love scene in the movie. If he is unsatisfied, they will have retakes tomorrow,” he looks at me. “Will, I like you.”
“Well, thanks, I guess,” I reply, unsure.
“Be careful, though. Portia is not the frivolous person she leads people to think. Underneath the shallow persona hides a sensitive and caring woman.” Stefan looks at her adoringly.
“Whoa, we are just getting to know each other.” I raise my hand, defensively.
“No shit. In almost ten years together, I haven’t seen her glance at anyone more than once. Just don’t hurt her,” he says.
I am pissed at him for getting in my business with Portia, but I see genuine concern in his expression. So I stay quiet.
“It’s a wrap,” someone yells.
I can’t believe that’s what they really say on the film set, but it sounds good to me.
Portia strolls to Stefan, grabs her coffee, and says, “Thank you, master of all spoiled actresses.” She kisses him on the lips.
“Hey, watch it so Romeo here won’t figure you’re undeniably in love with me because of my uncanny ability to produce caffeine.” Stefan gives her a charming smile.
She is flirty with Stefan, but there is a fraternal texture to their interaction, that puts my sorry ass at ease.
“Oh, before I forget.” she fishes inside her purse for a small blue box, “I got this for Chloe.” She hands the box to him.
“Are you kidding me? You bought her an entire Burberry collection. They just delivered the packages. I can barely walk through my room. Marina is going to go into cardiac arrest when she sees it.” He shakes his head.
“I couldn’t help it, the outfits were so cute.” She smiles broadly.
“Your lavishness to Chloe knows no boundaries,” he reprimands her, though his grin betrays him.
“Hey, she is my goddaughter and I have a sacred right to spoil her rotten.” She grins and kisses his lips. Again.
“Thank you,” he says hugging her.
Turning to me, she asks, “Your place or my place?” She gazes at me seductively, a smile dancing across her lips. I wonder if I look as pathetically molten as I feel. I hope not, honestly. She can puppet me around when she smiles the way she just did.
“My place.” I wave bye to Stefan, and pull her to me as we walk by the film crew and by the dumbass who just mauled her during the damned kissing scene…Yeah, I feel a little territorial. OK, a lot territorial.
Just saying.
I glance down at Will’s foot, impatiently tapping the cab’s floor. He has his arms around my shoulders and I snuggle into his embrace, inhaling his crisp male scent.
Will is acting a bit possessive and, if I am being honest, I sort of like it. Fine, I love it. In the same way, I feel daunted by the extent of my emotions and my soul aches as I strive to understand the surge of overwhelming feelings inside my heart.
Whoa, time to ditch the deep soul-searching crap. I don’t get my vain little heart attached to anyone. Why? Falling for someone just gets you a shitload of regret when it ends. That’s why.
At this point, I am sure Will is jealous of Jason and the thought is surprisingly delicious. Oh, well, I don’t have to actually fall for the guy to enjoy it.
Will’s eyes seem to be brewing a storm as he pays for the ride and helps me out of the cab. He cracks the back door open and we stagger inside the apartment. Once in, he shuts the door and his body, strong and heated, pins me against the smooth metal door. His scorching gaze imprisons me. Roughly, his lips crush against mine and his tongue invades my mouth. My fingers fist his hair, deepening the kiss.
Will grinds against me and a wave of desire travels from the bottom of my feet, up to my soul. He has a hard-on and an explosive volcano erupts inside me. I kiss him hungrily, reveling in his primal desire. He lips trail kisses along my jawline until he nibbles on my earlobe.
“I want you,” he says in my ear and his breath is hot. My core muscles clench.
“Oh God, Will. I want you inside me, so badly. Now,” I groan with a desperate and urgent need throbbing through my body.
Breathless, he pulls away. “God, woman, you can’t say things like that.” Will steps back, his hooded eyes glitter with desire. He inhales deeply and rakes his fingers through his disheveled hair.
Will is insanely handsome, and my body aches for his. Boiling lust runs through my veins, speeds up my pulse, and I want desperately to finish what we started. Every cell of my body screams for Will. Making love to him would be so, so incredible.
I look at the man in front of me. I’m ecstatic that he wants me. But if I am being honest, for a reason I cannot fathom, I admire his faithfulness to whatever crappy belief he has. Shit, it is confusing. Maybe I’ve gone mad since I met Will. Yep, I am a nutcase.
“Come here.” My hands grip his shirt, and I draw him back to me.
“It is too damn bad you can’t make love to me. But I, uh, I understand.” Yeah, it is unbelievable, but I am actually saying this, worse, I freaking mean it.
“Uh, Will, we can, you know, fool around, right?” I ask unsure. My eyes drift from his eyes to his full lips.
“Hmmm. You’re saying you want to get me all hot and aroused like a horny teenager?” He kisses the base of my neck, and I melt under his erratic breathing.
“Whatever way I can get my hands onto you, Will.” My fingers slide down his torso and I hook a loop of his jeans pulling him closer. A giggle escapes my throat. He still has a hard-on. I grab the hem of his shirt and peel it off of him.
Hungry for the taste of Will, my lips skim his hard chest, savoring his feverish skin. Will’s broad shoulders engulf me, cocooning me in a world that until now had been secretly tucked away from me. Intoxicated, I inhale his male crisp scent and I truly think I am going to faint.
Will groans, pushing against me so tight, I have to g
asp for air. Gazing down at me, his blazing eyes reflect yearning and angst. He tugs my hair, pulling my head back, and his lips are back on mine. Will’s hand reaches under my shirt. His long finger lightly trails along my ribs and I swoon. He moves my lace bra aside, cups my breast, and squeezes my hardened nipple.
For once, I am sober and disoriented, unsure of people, place, and time. Shaken and weak, I forget about the remainder of the world. I am completely immersed with this man. He reaches inside my thighs, touching me over my jeans, and it is intimate and sensual. My legs are wobbling. His urgent kiss is heated and his touch is so intense. I feel the moment my body explodes under his steady stroke. I gasp for air. I’ve never come this way before. I collapse against his solid body.
Will smiles at me and scoops me in his strong arms. He carries me to his bed and places me on the mattress. His eyes are sparkling and he chews on his lower lip, before kissing me briefly.
“Are you hungry? I can cook a mean arroz con pollo,” he inquires, with his lips against mine.
I nod, too astonished to utter a single word. The paradox of complete satisfaction and desperate need for more seizes my being. I must not overthink this. I should not even think about this but, in essence, I suspect I am falling for this guy.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
After we eat, I step under a steamy jet of water, wondering if it would be too much and too soon for Will to shower with me. I touch my swollen lips, reminiscing about the intimate moment we shared. Relishing the smell of his soap, I let the water massage my tight muscles. I climb out of the tub, dry my hypersensitive skin, and slip into Will’s sweat pants and cotton shirt.
Will also takes a shower. Afterward, he strolls my way and he looks like an Adonis. I admire his perfect build. He is a beautiful specimen. His hair is damp, he is shirtless, and his bare skin glimmers beneath droplets of water. With pajama pants hanging low on his hips, he looks delectable. I notice the absence of his leather band on his right wrist, and my lips turn into a secretive smile, when I see on his wrist for the first time, the tattoo he mentioned on the first day we met.
Will sprawls on bed beside me, and I nestle on his solid and smooth chest. My body reacts in an unsettled way when his slow-moving fingers lightly trace the skin under my shirt.
“Dinner was delicious, Will. Thank you. Did Maritza teach you to cook?” I ask with a languid voice.
“Yeah, between her and Mel, I learned the basics of Spanish culinary.” I hear the smile in his voice.
“You have a wonderful family,” I murmur.
“I am biased, but yeah, they are beyond words. They saved me,” Will says with reverence in his voice.
“How did you become a tattoo artist?” I ask, my fingers trailing the Hebrew inscription on his wrist.
He tells me the story of how he found Rick and came to know who his father had been. I am enthralled.
“So, is your father the reason why you became a tattoo artist?”
“I’ve asked myself that question many times. First, I am passionate about drawing and painting. Therefore, I enjoy inking. I was starting college, so cash sounded right. I think that being here with Rick and doing what my dad did gives me a connection to him that, in a way, filled a void I felt growing up. But, in all honesty, I felt a pull to this place, like, for an unknown reason, I had to be here. Perhaps it was a supernatural plan for me to meet beautiful actresses. Who knows?” He chuckles and shrugs. I giggle.
“What does this mean?” I skim the letters on his wrist.
“Yeshua, the Anointed.” He pulls my hand to his mouth, trailing kisses on the pad of each finger.
“Why do you only have this tattoo?” I inquire.
“Because I don’t believe in marking my skin unless it is something I am dead serious about. Inking Jesus on my skin is the only thing that has appealed to me so far.”
“Huh, you take life very serious.” I giggle when he nibbles the back of my hand.
“For the most part.” He smiles. “I’ve learned to never take things for granted.” He intertwines our fingers.
“Why didn’t you take the other path? There are so many traps you could have fallen into.” I stare at our entwined fingers and the deep feelings I have been avoiding send a jolt that connects to a dark part of me.
“I got lost for a while. You should’ve seen me a few years back. I often wonder how I survived the years prior to my adoption.” His stare gets distant and obscure.
“You are so focused, I can’t picture you leading a wild life,” I note.
“I am a fortunate person, Portia. Dan found me when I stood right at the edge of the end,” he says as his thumb strokes my knuckles. “The first year I lived in his house was when he tamed me. Dan and Maritza adopted me, when I was one year short of becoming an emancipated adult because they were invested in me. In a few years, they did more for me, than many parents do for their children in a lifetime. Their love grounded me.” He buries his face in my hair, and I hear him inhale deeply.
“It is amazing how you focus on the positive. It must have been awful growing up in stranger’s house.”
“Why dwell on what can’t be changed? Dan is a preacher, remember? Before anything else, he taught me the power of forgiveness. It is liberating.”
“What you mean?” I ask.
“I was thrown away, Portia, and fell into the hands of very cruel and evil people. In order to heal, I had to forgive. And God knows how hard it was to let go.” I glance up, but there is no trace of bitterness.
Baffled by his heartfelt confessions, I think of my own parents. Though they were never abusive, the silent sting of their constant neglect wounded me deeply.
“Portia?” Will whispers in my ear.
“Yeah?” The room is tranquil as if a bubble is protecting us from the noisy world outside.
“Would you stay for the night?” He is insecure, in a very adorable way.
“I thought you would never ask.” I grin and I feel that I am right where I am supposed to be. But, for the life of me, I refuse to acknowledge the surge of foreign emotions.
Surreal, I know. But waking up in Will’s arms again seems natural. So, no, I am not giving this up anytime soon. Besides, I still have hopes I can corrupt him and do all kinds of wrong. Will must sense that I am awake, he runs his fingers through the length of my hair, sending shivers up my spine.
“Morning, beautiful,” he growls with his husky voice and nibbles on my earlobe. I giggle in response. I’ve been giggling a lot lately.
Yes, we are spooning, and my body is drowning in his warmth. I spin to face him.
“Hey there, handsome.” I blink as my eyes focus on his perfection. His unsearchable eyes seek mine, and I gaze into his deep green eyes. He smiles and his lips are so delectable that I feel an urge to devour them.
I shudder, musing on how similar my life is to an electronic device. In a way, Will is a new app, just downloaded. He is crisp and new, exciting and addictive. And, hell yeah, I will play with it obsessively, until I get bored and delete.
“What are you doing today?” he asks.
“I have a publicity junket at noon.”
“Oh, OK. Maybe I will go to Connecticut then.” His mossy-green eyes seem a bit disappointed.
“You don’t have to work at the tattoo shop?” I inquire as my finger draws invisible loops on his naked chest.
“Nah, technically, I am supposed to be working on my paintings for an upcoming exhibition. But I get some gigs at the shop from time to time, just to spice up things a bit,” he explains.
“That’s a convenient job,” I say.
“Yeah, can’t complain. My arrangement with Ricky is great.”
“Will, uh, couple weeks from now, Stephan’s wife and baby daughter will visit.” I bite my lip. “I want to give Stefan time with Marina. They have been apart for a while. I am taking the baby for the weekend. Can we stay here?” I ask hopeful. I really don’t want to be away from him, but I don’t want to impose.
�
�Sure. We could take her to Connecticut with us. Maritza would love to have a baby around.”
“Yeah, that would be fun. I will ask Marina,” I say.
“It will be interesting to have a baby around.” He smiles.
“Are you sure it’s OK?” I ask.
“Mmm-hmm,” he says as his lips cover mine. His fingertips probe the bare skin under my shirt, causing me to swoon. Will nuzzles the base of my neck and his breath whispers on my skin. I close my eyes, my head swims and butterflies flap their wings in my stomach.
Oh, the delicious things he can do to me.
Sitting on a blanket surrounded by luscious green grass, I delight in the warmth of the afternoon sun radiating into my skin. I grin while watching Will, lying on his back, holding Chloe in a flying position.
“Wee, who is an airplane?” he coos, lowering her to his face and blowing bubbles on her tummy. Chloe giggles and kicks her feet. Her tiny fingers grab his nose. Will sits up and flashes a smile at me.
“Can we keep her?” he asks.
The thought of sharing a child with Will sends a thrill trough my body. What is wrong with me?
“God, I hope you feel the same in the middle of the night, if she decides she misses her mommy and gives us hell.”
“She would never do that. Isn’t that right, gorgeous?” He looks at her all goo-goo.
I grab a bottle of freshly squeezed lemonade from the basket Estela prepared for our picnic and pour a glass for Will. Handing him the drink, I grab Chloe.
A whiff of her soiled diapers hits me. “Hmm, someone needs to be changed.”
“This is a nice hidden spot, how did you find?” Will’s eyes sweep the area. Sitting on a patch of grass surrounded by tall bushes, we are in a secluded area of Central Park.
“Oh. Well, when I visited with my dad, it got boring at the house, so I wandered through the park. One day I encountered this spot. It became my escape.” I fold the disposable diaper and place it in a trash bag. “A place to dream,” I add mindlessly, but Will immediately caught my longing tone.