“Hands all over her, Buck,” Jim called out. “Nothing we can’t show on network television, but, you know, improvise a bit. Hands in motion, mouth next to her neck.”
Fuck, dude. Olivia’s spine was ramrod straight, and my stomach turned at the prospect of getting that close and intimate with someone who obviously didn’t want me to. Every vibe she gave off was a loud and clear “back off”, and Jim wanted me to do the opposite.
“You got it, Buck?” Jim asked.
I gulped. “Got it.” I moved in a little closer and murmured, “Sorry.”
Olivia turned her head. “What?”
“Just doing what he’s telling me to.”
Her quiet laugh was as tense as her body. “It’s okay. Director’s orders.”
“True.”
“Sooner we relax and do what he says, the sooner we’re done.”
“Easier said than done,” I muttered.
“Tell me about it,” she grumbled.
Before I had a chance to decide if I was offended or not, the music started again, and Olivia and I were back in motion.
I tried to be in motion, anyway. It was easier to move with someone I wasn’t worried about touching. With Olivia, I only wanted to touch her as much as the director told me because I didn’t want to make her more uncomfortable than she already was. This wasn’t a body language conversation with some girl in a club. Turned out that maintaining distance and following her rhythm and motion was a lot more challenging than I thought it would be.
Especially when the way she moved—those hips, oh my God—made me want to get right up against her like I would in a club. It didn’t help that Jim kept asking me to touch her more, and get closer to her, and was just generally torturing the ever-loving fuck out of me. It didn’t help that she jumped every time I exhaled against her neck, and I had to suppress a shiver every time I breathed in her scent.
After a couple of run-throughs, Jim declared it was time for a fifteen-minute break. As soon as my hands were off her, Olivia stepped away from me like we couldn’t separate fast enough, and she didn’t look at me on her way off the stage.
Part of me wanted to be insulted, but could I really blame her? She’d met me ten minutes before we’d gone up onstage. She knew damn well what I did for a living, and that knowledge always had a magnetic effect on women: it either drew them right to me, or it repelled them to the opposite end of a room. Whatever the case, we were stuck working together—close together—until at least the end of the day tomorrow whether we liked it or not. There had to be some way to alleviate this tension long enough to get to the end of the shoot without losing our minds.
After I’d thrown back some cold, tasteless coffee, I went looking for Olivia.
I found her near the soundstage door. A well-dressed hipster-looking kid spoke to her, gesturing like he was one of those people who talked with his hands as much as anything. Probably the type who couldn’t form a coherent sentence if his hands were tied behind his back.
She sipped her coffee and nodded, alternately looking at him and glancing at the tablet he held with his less animated arm. He must have been her assistant, or maybe someone from the record company.
Whoever he was, he continued for a minute or two, and then they wrapped up their conversation. As he walked away, leaving Olivia alone with her coffee, my heart quickened.
Before anyone else could get in and grab her attention, I cleared my throat. Olivia turned around, and I couldn’t decide if the sudden tension in her posture was surprise or defensiveness. I was either the last person she’d expected to approach her, or the last person she’d wanted to approach her.
She offered a thin smile. “Oh. Hi.” The raised eyebrows on any other celebrity might have asked, And just who the fuck are you? If anything, Olivia shrank away from me a little, like I made her nervous.
“Do you have a minute?” I asked.
Her guard stayed up. “I… yeah. Sure.”
“Listen, I just wondered, is there anything I can do to make…” I paused and gestured at the stage. “To make it a little less uncomfortable dancing with me, I guess?”
Olivia blinked. “Um…I…” Some color rushed into her cheeks. She looked less nervous now and more confused. Or startled, maybe. “You’re just fine. I’m…”
“I’m serious,” I said. “If there’s anything I’m doing, or not doing, just say the word.” I grimaced. “I know they’re making us get really close up there, and I thought… I mean you seemed a bit…” Well, if she wasn’t uncomfortable before, she probably was now.
Olivia chewed her lower lip for a moment. Then, “You’re fine, actually. I’m sorry, this whole video has just had me wound up. I wasn’t expecting to be dancing—” She stopped abruptly, cringing as our eyes met.
I laughed. “Weren’t expecting to be dancing with someone like me?”
“Uh, well…” She muffled a cough. “No, I wasn’t. I’m sorry, that—”
“It’s okay.” I shrugged. “But if I’m creeping you out or—”
“No, no!” She put up a hand and shook her head. “No, not at all. I think I’m just… I didn’t know what to expect, and…” She trailed off, more color flooding her cheeks. “God, I’m sorry. I must be creeping you out.”
“Not at all.” I smiled. “He’s asking us to get awfully close for two people who just met.” I shrugged with one shoulder. “I can understand it.”
“I would think that wouldn’t—” Her mouth snapped shut.
I cocked my head. “Hmm?”
Her cheeks reddened, and she lowered her gaze.
Then the penny dropped. “Trust me,” I said, “it can be a challenge even in my line of work.”
Olivia met my eyes, and the color deepened. “Is that right?”
I nodded. With a wink, I said, “Porn actors are human too.”
She laughed. “Of course. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply anything.”
I waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it.” Nodding toward the stage again, I said, “But we’re stuck together until tomorrow, so I just wanted to make sure we could work together.”
“I think we’ll be—”
“Break’s over!” Jim’s voice boomed through the soundstage. “Places!”
I glanced in his direction, then back at Olivia. “I guess we’d better get back to work.”
“Right.” She held up her coffee cup. “Just let me finish this, and I’ll be right there.”
“See you onstage.” I started to go.
“Buck.”
I turned around again, eyebrows up.
Olivia smiled over her coffee cup. “Thank you. For being concerned.”
I returned the smile, gave her a slight nod and kept walking.
Chapter Three
Rachel
Finally, Jim called out the words my aching feet had been dying to hear: “That’s a wrap for today.”
Buck and I both released relieved breaths. He let me go, and I shivered at the sudden absence of his body heat against me.
As we all cleared the half-finished stage, Jim went on, “Everyone get some sleep, ice anything that needs to be iced, and be here and ready to shoot tomorrow morning at seven thirty sharp.”
Sleep, ice and cortisone. Sign me up.
Walking gingerly, I carefully made my way back to the main stage area. There, Quinn waited for me.
“How are your feet, love?” he asked.
I glared at him.
He offered a sympathetic grimace. “You’ve got an appointment at six forty-five for your injection.”
“Thank God,” I said.
“You don’t have to call me God, darling.”
I laughed. “Cute.”
He put a hand on my arm and gently herded me toward the door. “Let’s get you changed so—oh, sweet pimply uncle of Horus, what now?” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and swore again. “I need to take this, my dear.”
“I’ll meet you back at the dressing room.”
Q
uinn nodded and put his phone to his ear. While he handled the call, I left the soundstage and tried not to limp on the way back to my dressing room. I couldn’t wait to get out of this suffocating leather, not just because of the heat and the way it constricted my rib cage, but because then I’d be able to bend far enough to rub my sore ankle. And take off my fucking shoes.
With every step, the pain in my ankle intensified. Or maybe I just noticed it now that I didn’t have to concentrate on dancing, Buck, lip-synching, Buck, the director’s orders, Buck…
What in the world is wrong with me?
Just a few hours ago, I’d been horrified by the idea of appearing on camera with him, and now? Now I didn’t know what I felt. Not horrified, that was for sure. Maybe his raw sex appeal had roped me in like it did everyone else. Which totally explained why I was so much more relaxed around him after he sweetly asked what he could do to make me more comfortable. It was all about his jaw-dropping good looks.
Yeah, right. As I hobbled down the hall toward my dressing room, I shivered again. It was bad enough Buck was so gorgeous I forgot the lyrics to my own song when I was looking at him, but he also had to be nice and considerate and a total goddamned gentleman. He wasn’t playing fair.
I have to dance with you, Buck. Stop being so amazing.
Dance. Right. On this fucked-up ankle?
Every step was more painful than the last. Maybe six doors down from my dressing room, I stopped and put my hand against the wall. Then, wincing, I lifted my right foot and gingerly moved it from side to side, trying to work out some of the soreness. Just enough to get me to the end of the hall.
“Those shoes hurting your feet?”
I turned around, half expecting the playfulness in Buck’s voice to bring to life that smarmy grin from his photo. I knew better, though, and shouldn’t have been surprised when he grimaced and his forehead creased with what looked like genuine concern.
Just like it was no surprise when his gaze made my knees shake all over again. Especially after a few hours of bumping and grinding with his gorgeous, leather-clad and obviously aroused body. It didn’t help that the photos Quinn showed me earlier had had a little bit of Photoshop magic. Buck’s eyes were green, but they weren’t really that startling, vivid green. The real color was paler, more subdued, and so, so much more disarming.
Oddly, it was my high heels that kept me safe from melting or falling on my face right then. Ever since I’d put them on, at least part of my awareness had been focused on how easily I could re-fuck up my ankle, and I’d had to concentrate on keeping my balance. If I’d been in sneakers just then, God knew what might have happened.
And a second before awkward silence would have become a ridiculously uncomfortable silence, I remembered he’d asked me a question. Clearing my throat, I lowered my gaze to my ankle. “Old injury. It’s…not really agreeing with these shoes.”
“Ouch.” He grimaced again. “Do you need a hand?”
“Oh. I…” I looked in the direction of my dressing room. “My assistant. He’ll be…”
“You know, I’ve got some stuff that might help.” He gestured at my foot. “With the pain, I mean.”
Hadn’t I heard “I’ve got some stuff for you” before? But curiosity got the better of me. “What ‘stuff’?”
“It’s a topical. One of those homeopathic things. Works wonders on stuff like that.” He inclined his head. “I can go get it if you want to give it a try.”
Thanks to Quinn, I had an appointment for a cortisone shot in very short order—bless his dirty little heart, he was quite persuasive when it came to those responsible for my physical well-being—but with getting dressed, getting out of here and fighting Los Angeles traffic, it would be at least an hour or two before needle met skin. Oh, what the hell? I couldn’t imagine Buck’s magic topical would make anything worse.
“You don’t mind?” I asked.
“Not at all,” he said. “Do you need help getting back to your dressing room?”
“No, no, I’ll be fine.” I think. And if you touch me, I won’t be able to walk anyway. I forced a smile. “It’s not far. I’ll be okay.” I hope.
Buck hesitated, but then gestured at another door that must have been his dressing room. “All right, give me a minute, and I’ll bring it over.”
“Thanks.”
I hobbled down the hall to my dressing room, left the door open so I wouldn’t have to let Buck in, and sank onto one of the folding chairs. Now all I needed was Quinn to give me a hand with these shoes and help me out of this dress, and I could see if Buck’s miracle topical did any good. Which I would probably do in the car on the way to my date with a syringe full of cortisone.
Just getting off my feet helped almost immediately. I closed my eyes and took a few slow, deep breaths. Well, as deep as this dress would allow. Shit, I was going to take that thing off, but that meant standing, not to mention trying to keep my balance while I struggled to peel the thing off. And, for that matter, Buck was coming by any minute…
I slowly exhaled through my nose. Just had to wait until Buck dropped off this miracle ointment and Quinn came back, and then I could strip and breathe.
A moment later, footsteps came down the hall. I opened my eyes just as Buck appeared in the doorway with a small white jar in his hand.
He hesitated. “All right if I come in?”
“Sure, sure.” I lifted my foot and winced. “Because I’m not getting up again until these things are off.”
“Good call.” He crossed the narrow room and handed me the jar. “Directions are on the side, but just put it on and leave it.”
“Thanks.” I smiled up at him, then looked around. “Now if I can ever find Quinn, I can sweet-talk him into putting it on.”
“I, um…” Buck glanced at the jar in my hand. “If you’d like, I can put it on. I’ll be careful.”
I looked down at my foot and then slid a surreptitious glance toward the door. Where Quinn was or who he was talking to, I had no idea, and if I didn’t get these shoes off, I was going to amputate from the knee with a nail file. The alternative to waiting or severing a limb was Buck removing my shoes with those warm, gentle hands and putting on something with the potential to relieve some pain. There were worse things in life.
“You don’t mind?” I asked quietly.
“No, of course not.” He knelt in front of me. “Which foot?”
“The right one,” I said. “I don’t suppose I can talk you into—” I hesitated, biting my lip.
He looked up and cocked his head a little. “Talk me into…?”
“Helping me with both shoes?”
“No problem.” He eyed the shoes. “I wouldn’t want to keep those on any longer than I had to.”
“You wear shoes like these?”
A laugh burst out of him, and holy crap, he had a beautiful smile. Shaking his head, he said, “No, I don’t wear things like this.” As he reached for my foot, he added, “Thank God.”
He didn’t have any trouble with the straps and buckles. I supposed it didn’t surprise me he knew what he was doing. He probably had to maneuver all kinds of tiny straps and buckles in his line of work. Lots of leather ones, for that matter.
A strap slackened, and he carefully slid off my shoe.
“Oh my God.” I groaned and let my head fall back. “It feels better already.”
“I don’t doubt it.” He laughed softly. “I still can’t figure out how women don’t wind up with broken ankles more often. These things are dangerous.”
“It happens.” I shifted to hide a shudder. “Believe me.”
“I don’t envy you, that’s for sure.” After he took off the other shoe, he picked up the little jar he’d brought in and unscrewed the cap. As he scooped out some of the bluish, semi-opaque gel with his fingers, he said, “It’ll be cold, just so you know.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
His other hand warmed my heel, and he lifted my foot just a little. Then he smoothed the oi
ntment onto my skin, working his way from my Achilles heel to the top of my foot and back. Gentle, circular motions, pressing in just enough to massage the sore tissue without irritating it.
I couldn’t lie: it felt good.
And it wasn’t just because of the ointment or the fact that I finally had those damned shoes off. What could I say? I liked his hands. I liked the contrast between the cool ointment and the warmth of his fingers, and the gentle way he cradled my foot was… I just liked it.
He probably gives a hell of a foot mass—
I cleared my throat. “So, Buck, do—”
“Lee.” He glanced up through his lashes. “Call me Lee.”
Heat rushed into my face. Of course he had a real name, and for some reason, knowing that added a whole new dimension to how much I liked what he was doing to my ankle.
Jesus, what is wrong with me?
“Oh. Okay. Lee.” I paused. “In that case, call me Rachel.”
He smiled. “Will do.”
Our eyes met again, and the silence teetered on the brink of awkward, so I said, “You have to use this stuff a lot?”
Lee nodded. “Last couple of years, I’ve started having problems with my neck and my hip.”
“Job related?”
He looked up again and smirked. “Well, my job hasn’t helped…”
I laughed. “No, I can’t imagine it has.”
He gestured at his neck. “Car accident, actually. Screwed up my neck and my shoulder.”
“And your hip?”
“No.” He chuckled, and my God, Buck Harder the porn star actually blushed. “No, that one’s definitely an on-the-job injury.”
I…had no idea what to say to that.
“I think that’s about enough.” He eased my foot back to the floor and then sat back on his heels. “Give it ten or fifteen minutes, and it should make a difference.”
“Already has, actually.” I carefully flexed and straightened my ankle, testing the irritated joint, and it really did feel better. “Wow. That’s amazing. Thanks.”
He smiled. “Any time.” He picked up the jar to screw the cap back on. “What about you? What happened to your ankle?”
The Princess and the Porn Star Page 3