The Ex Factor

by Cate Masters

  Lips pressed into a grimace, he nodded slowly and blinked hard.

  What in heck was wrong with him? He looked about ready to puke. But she’d never before noticed how beautiful his eyes were, dark lashes framing light green irises flecked with forest green. While filming the two movies which he’d directed and in which she’d starred, he’d always reminded her of a cold stone statue of a person until he barked some gruff order.

  Mmm, his mouth. When not scrunched up so painfully, his mouth actually looked…soft. Kissable. She’d never noticed. In fact, if they’d met in a bar as strangers, she’d be flirting with him by now. Knowing what a complete grump he was, she wouldn’t bother.

  Caught up in her intense scrutiny, she hardly noticed his arm moving. The scrape of glass against the wooden tabletop absently drew her gaze.

  Like something out of a horror flick, the white rose advanced. So pure and delicate, its petals caught the candlelight with a soft but brilliant glow. But how…? “How did you get that?”

  Amusement flickered across his features. “I assure you, I didn’t sneak into anyone’s yard and snip it.”

  She glanced around. “Was it already at the table when you sat down?”

  “No, Susan.”

  “You….” She must seem an idiot, but she couldn’t fathom it. “You?” Her 1Night Stand date?

  “Me,” he said sheepishly.

  “There’s been a mistake.” Madame Eve’s first, apparently. And wow, what a doozy. “I specified a date with a real person.”

  Mirth practically bubbled up. “I am a real person.”

  “No, I meant, yes, of course you’re a real person. But you’re a director. A world-famous director.” About as far from ordinary as anyone could get.

  “I’m still real.” He held his arm out. “Want to pinch me?”

  She gently shoved it away. “No.”

  He rose to a crouch. “Maybe you’d rather pinch me somewhere else?” He swung his rear toward her.

  A chuckle escaped. Great butt. Tempting offer. She gestured for him to sit. “No,” she whispered. “I’m simply explaining there’s been a mistake. I have to text Madame Eve.” She whipped out her cell.

  His hand enveloped hers. “No, there hasn’t.”

  Her shoulders slumped in defeat. Oh, this poor man. If she wasn’t dead set on finding someone who hated movies, she’d be tempted to—

  He leaned across the table, the white rose between them. “Madame Eve’s reputation remains untarnished. She filled both our requests.”

  Holy hell. He arranged a date, too.

  Had she ever looked more adorable? Sunglasses propped atop the Yankees cap, her honey hair flowed to her shoulders. Hoodie half-unzipped, revealing a tight V-neck tee. Hey, he’d gotten the neckline right, anyway. Lush pink lips bare of lipstick, opening and closing like a fish seeking air. Cinnamon eyes, sparkling as if sprinkled with sugar, flicking from him to the flower…to the door.

  Flustered never looked so good on anyone. Less than enthusiastic, yeah, but he’d expected surprise.

  “Sorry, I….” She shook her head as if to clear it. “I asked that my date be a working guy.”

  “And I am. I work very hard.”

  “I know. To the point of obsession,” she muttered, then pleaded, “But you’re in the movie industry.”

  “So are you.”

  Calm blanketed her as she withdrew. “Exactly. Not the most stable environment for any couple.”

  “With a few notable exceptions.” So that’s it. It’s not me, it’s the business? The old excuse with a twist.

  The portrait of thoughtfulness, she studied him.

  Don’t lose her now. “Listen, you’re here. I’m here. Let’s have a drink, some dinner. We’ll see where it goes. What do you say.”

  A hesitation, and she avoided meeting his gaze as emotions flashed across her like a summer storm. She settled back. “Sure. If it’s a bust, you can write it off as a business expense.”

  “And if it’s not?”

  The waiter appeared. Handsome and suave as a young Cary Grant, he introduced himself and asked them to name their pleasure. “Care for some wine?”

  “Oh yes. White?” she asked Jared, and he nodded. She shot the rose a glum glare. “A carafe, at least.”

  He said to the waiter, “Bring the bottle, please.” They’d need it, apparently. Say something. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”

  “My disguise worked, then. I didn’t want the media to intrude.”

  But now her expression suggested she wished they, or anyone else, would. “Doubt they’d show up here. But if they do, we’ll tell them I want you.”

  She stilled. Watching him, her lips parted.

  So sweet, he wanted to taste them. Until she seemed to shrink back in horror.

  What had he said? Asshole! “For a movie. I want you for my next movie.”

  That won him a wan smile, and an aha sort of nod.

  He babbled on. “The perfect role for you, a wronged woman.” Given the chance, he’d make sure that part stayed fictional. Take care of her. Love her.

  Pain flashed in her eyes. Clearly not in the script now. He wanted to maim himself. Have to wait till the waiter leaves. He’d brought the wine, poured the sample into Jared’s glass.

  Jared sipped quickly. “Very good. Thank you.”

  After filling their glasses, the waiter asked if they’d decided what to order.

  “Can we skip dinner?” She asked apologetically. “I’m not at all hungry.”

  So she can skip out early. “Whatever you want.” Stomp on his heart, leave him an emotional cripple. One night with her might be worth it.

  “I appreciate you thinking of me for the movie, but no thanks. Roles are growing stale, scripts are pigeon-holing me as the cute but clueless and ineffectual sweetheart. Frankly, I’m tired of playing the role, and I’m sure audiences are tired of watching it.” She downed a hearty gulp of liquid courage.

  Susan underestimated the loyalty of her fans. If she made one of those movies a month, millions would line up to watch. “Oh, you’d be wonderful in it. But it’s a healthy sign you want to break out of that mold.” And didn’t sell herself short. But did she think he was serious? That he invited her here to talk about a project? “That’s not why I asked Madame Eve to set up our date.”

  “No?” Her smile was polite, and short lived. “Then why did you?”

  “Because I….” God, anything he said after that would make him sound like a stalker. A freak. He released a breath that turned into a groan. “Do you want to take a walk on the beach?”

  “If we can take the bottle.”

  Oh, yeah. And another for him, the way the night was headed.

  Chapter Three

  Let it not be said that Susan Ainsley has a closed mind. Never would she have scripted this scenario, but here she was, walking along the beach admiring a gorgeous sunset with a tall, handsome guy. Who she was trying very hard to forget was Jared Thornballs. Anyone so cranky must have something painful digging into his balls, that was for sure. But tonight he’d revealed more emotion than she’d seen in years. Maybe he had a deeper side she’d never glimpsed?

  She chanced a peek. “So, tell me….” She couldn’t bring herself to even call him by his first name; it would remind her who he was. The guy who intimidated the hell out of her. “What made you become a movie director?”

  He kicked at the sand and sent her a sidelong glance. “What made you become an actor?”

  “Oh, a lot of reasons. Not the least of which was getting away from my hometown.” Funny, now she wanted to go back. The option looked more promising by the moment. “The simple answer is, the craft. I love everything about it. Creating a new person, living out another life, bringing a compelling story to an audience. When they love it, it’s the best feeling in the world.”

  “Yeah. Me, too.” He looked somewhere beyond the horizon, seeming unaffected by the blazing red-orange sunset. “I couldn’t have said it any better.
”

  Wow. A compliment? “So why, if you love it, do you make it seem the opposite?” A breath burst out. Don’t go there.

  “What?”

  Yes, I have to know. If we’re going to date, I have to know what he’s really like. “Any film you make is an incredible experience for an audience.”

  “Thank you.” His voice softened, and his expression grew more pleasant. Not exactly a smile, but progress.

  Genuinely touched? Which made it all the harder to add, “But hell for the crew.”

  He threw his head back in a laugh, a beautiful silhouette against the fading colors of the sky. “So I’ve heard.”

  The cheeriness of his tone sparked warmth through her, which spread when his shoulder bumped hers.

  “You’re wondering why. Why am I such a bastard?”

  No joking his way out of it. “Basically.”

  “I’m there to make the best movie I possibly can. To give the investors what they paid for, to bring out the best performances in the actors. The excellence I know they’re capable of. The better the actors, the tougher I am on them.”

  She dug her feet into the sand. “So you wanted to cast me in the same type of role I’ve played ad nauseam?” Great. Thanks a lot.

  “Honestly, I made that up.” He swung toward her slowly, but aimed his grimace out over the sea.

  “There’s seriously no movie?”

  “Susan, tonight was supposed to be all about you and me.” A strangled breath came out. “Look, would you rather go back?” His mouth had turned into a hard line again. When he finally looked at her, he no longer resembled the gruff director capable of little more than terse instructions on set. He looked like a man. A sad, lonely man.

  “No, I’d rather keep walking.” She took a few tentative steps. “And talking.”

  It took him a beat to catch up. “Great.”

  To her surprise, he sounded relieved. “So.” What else could they talk about, if not the movies? “Do you use the 1Night Stand service often?” Why did it bother her that he might?

  “Only once.” He seemed embarrassed to admit it.

  “Sorry about your luck.” She imagined him with successful businesswomen, women who could discuss politics and gourmet food and classic literature.

  “What do you mean?”

  Her light shrug could have won her an Oscar. “You’re stuck with me for the night.”

  “Susan, I wanted you,” he blurted.

  So riveted by surprise, her body followed his, and she stopped when he stopped.

  More softly, he said, “I asked Madame Eve to set it up because I didn’t have the balls to ask you myself.”

  Oh shit, what sort of game was he playing? “Why not?”

  He threw up his hands. “Because you’re Susan Ainsley, goddess of the screen, loved by millions.”

  Too easy an excuse. She knew this felt too good to be true. “Right, by millions, but I can’t keep one guy interested.”

  “Susan….”

  Oh, his sorrowful expression nearly killed her. Like he wanted to be anywhere but with her. “No, I don’t blame you for backing out. My life’s a media circus.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not backing out.”

  Hope fluttered up. Confusion killed it. “But you denied this was a date. You said—”

  “I said I’m a ball-less asshole who hid behind a dating service when I’ve wanted to ask you out for a long time.”

  “You’re not ball-less… I mean, I hope you’re not.” Unless they really are thorny. A chuckle burst out. “Sorry. This is not at all how I expected tonight to go.” An ordinary date? What was she thinking? Ordinary wasn’t in the game plan anymore. Not for her.

  “You?” He half-huffed, half-laughed. “I was hoping to sweep you off your feet. By this point, we’re supposed to be drinking champagne in the hot tub.”

  “But you don’t, I mean, you didn’t think I was—”

  “What?”

  Was he acting now? Or did he truly not understand? “Come on. An airhead. A bubblehead. A bimbo.” She hated to even put the image in his mind.

  “Oh I see, you expected me to buy into the media hype? Knowing you learn your lines faster than any other actor? Knowing you listen to suggestions from a director, and then run with them, take the role to heights the director never dreamed? Anyone with half a brain can see past the two-dimensional glossy image to the bright, perceptive, intuitive, warm woman beneath.”

  The unexpected gush of compliments disarmed her defenses. Her cheeks went hot. “No, not anyone. I’m glad you can, though I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed in the real me.”

  “I described the real you. Don’t hide her. Don’t limit her. Free her. Let her take you where you really want to go.”

  Some sensation she’d rarely felt came over her, like a magical being had sprinkled pixie dust in the air. “Oh wow.”

  “Did I say something wrong?” Exasperation came through, but aimed at himself.

  How had she never known how amazing this man was? “The opposite. Something right. Something I’ve been waiting to hear for….” She couldn’t finish, could only stare into those warm green eyes. His words thrilled her more than any physical touch. Which she now couldn’t wait to experience with him.

  “Too long,” he finished for her. “You should hear it every day. Twice.”

  So sincere. And too damn shy. “Twice?” She couldn’t help smiling.

  “As soon as you wake up, and right before you fall asleep.”

  God, I’m falling in love with him already. She couldn’t speak.

  Shoulders hunched, he stood rigid, hair dancing in the breeze. “I wish real life had a second take.”

  He needs some serious loosening up. Some encouragement. “I wouldn’t change tonight. I like this version better. But I get your point. There’s a certain aspect that’s not fulfilling expectations.”

  Hope flickered in his eyes, or maybe reflected the last ray of sunshine. “It had occurred to me, but I’d love to hear your thoughts.”

  Imagine that, the director needs some direction. “The romantic aspect needs a boost.” A big one.

  “Any suggestions?”

  Did he seem relieved, or was she imagining it? Since he seemed comfortable talking in movie terms, she’d keep it on that level. “Well, we’re probably not positioned right.” In the growing dimness, she spied a boulder and headed toward it, tugging her hoodie tight around her. The sun’s departure stole the warmth, and the breeze had a definite bite. “Maybe if we moved over here, and I leaned against the rock, like so, my arms wide apart, one leg kind of opening and closing, like a signal light.”

  He followed, one awkward step at a time. “I’m getting a clear vision of where this could lead. If I moved in front of you, like this, placed my hands on the rock—not touching you, but giving you the option of touching me. Embracing me. If you wanted.”

  “You need to come in a little closer. Sends the wrong message, if I keep swinging my leg, like a signal light that’s not getting noticed.”

  “Oh, I’m definitely noticing.”

  “Good.” She slid her hand up his chest, neck, into his hair, which was surprisingly soft. “Very, very good.”

  Their lips almost touched.

  “Too much buildup,” he murmured, withdrawing. “I don’t want you to be disappointed.”

  “Jared.” She liked the feel of his name on her tongue. Now she wanted more.

  “Mm.”

  “I’ll be disappointed if you don’t kiss me.”

  He touched his lips to hers. Tentative at first, his kisses deepened. His hold transferred from the rock to her. When he nearly lost his balance, her arms and legs flew open and wrapped around him to steady him, by chance placing her crotch to his groin.

  Moaning, he tightened his embrace, hands roaming inside her sweatshirt, down the back of her jeans, up inside her tee.

  The crashing surf, the chill of the night air disappeared. There was only him, warm and ten
der and loving and…real.

  ***

  Please don’t let this be a dream. None of the many dreams in which Susan had starred beat this. Jared fought the surge of desire, the one demanding he strip her naked and have her right there. Don’t make her hate you already.

  Beneath his hands, she trembled. “Are you cold?”

  “Not when I have you to keep me warm.” She trailed kisses along his jaw.

  Her hoodie slipped down her back, partly exposing her shoulder. He dove to taste her skin, lips tracing her collarbone. Her hands tangled in his hair, her legs squeezed his sides.

  The urgency grew too great, and he couldn’t help himself. He wanted more. If she slapped him, he probably wouldn’t feel it anyway through his haze of need. With two smooth motions, he tugged her arms from the hoodie without removing it, and peeled her T-shirt over her head, leaving her with nothing but a bra beneath the sweatshirt. Arching her neck, she sent him a silent invitation.

  Oh sweet lord. He nuzzled lower before she changed her mind. The one time he’d gotten a view of her perfect breasts, he’d been in heaven. Directing her in a love scene, it took all he had not to zoom in and splice that section of video to take home and replay for his private pleasure. During the final cut, he couldn’t watch that part, wanting to stand in for the male lead.

  Did he dare? With one quick twist, he released the hook. The bra drooped, and she shifted, back stiffening. He braced for the impact of her smack, but softness met his cheek. Before slipping her arms back inside the sleeves, she removed the bra and drew his head to her chest.

  Heaven couldn’t possibly be this sweet. With slow licks and nuzzles, he followed her cues. When she sighed, he teased the outer curve of her breast with kisses. When she moaned, he dragged his tongue over the pebbly edge of her nipple. When she drew air through her teeth, he sucked; she gripped his head, and he sucked harder.

  “Oh Jared,” she murmured, lifting his head, her mouth covering his.