Unscripted

by Swallow, Lisa

  “I thought you were eating?”

  “I’ll finish yours.” He grabs fingersful of fries and dips them in ketchup. “Hurry up.”

  “What if I haven’t finished?” I say with a small smile.

  “Now I’ve found you, we can go.” He stands.

  With a shake of the head, I follow him, aware his behaviour charmed more than the lonely girl.

  20

  We arrive back at the small hotel, and as I say my goodnight, ready to step inside, Tate places fingers on my arm. “Can we talk about earlier?”

  “Which part?” He pulls an are you kidding me? face, and I half roll my eyes like the teen we just met. “If you mean the kiss, why do we need to talk about it?”

  I tug my jacket closer around myself, the pair of us shrouded at the edge of the building, away from the brightly lit hotel lobby.

  “You liked it too much,” he says with a hint of smug flickering his lips.

  “I think that was the point of the scene. Brit was supposed to like Dev kissing her.” His fingers on my arm hardly hold me in place, but I’m unable to move, back in the moment and ignoring the fact his lips still feel imprinted on mine.

  “I enjoyed it too,” he continues. “I’ve waited a bloody long time for a repeat performance. One you can remember, that is.”

  “But I wasn’t kissing you. I kissed Dev.” Tate edges forward, and he moves his fingers to touch my cheek. “Stop that.”

  We stand our bodies inches away from connecting like before. If only Tate knew the fake kiss from earlier managed to blank everything around us in a way I haven’t felt since I was nineteen.

  “Do you want to stop by the hotel bar and have a drink?” he asks.

  “I don’t drink. Not since... Vegas.”

  “Have a juice instead. Come on, we’ve barely spent time together as Tate and Myf for weeks.” He takes my elbow and guides me towards the sliding entrance doors. I move his hand. “Don’t you trust yourself around me now you’ve had a taste?”

  “Very funny.”

  “Juice then?” he asks.

  I hesitate between the lobby and bar. Ah, what the hell? “Apple.”

  Some crew members I recognise sit in the half-empty bar area. Where’s everybody else? It’s early and the town isn’t a hotbed of evening entertainment. We choose a small table beneath a local scenery painting, and Tate returns with drinks. He slides my juice across the table and takes a large drink from his glass.

  “I’ll never get used to crap beer,” he remarks. “One thing I miss about England.”

  “You miss warm beer?” I wrinkle my nose and sip my drink.

  Tate nods at me. “How’s the juice?”

  “Juice-like.” Oh god, not small talk.

  “Are you still planning that trip back to Wales?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’d better come back.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  Tate folds his arms onto the table. “Because you’re unhappy in LA.”

  I play with my glass, looking down as I spin it in circles. “You mean because of my decently paid, career-making role?”

  “Fair enough. But you’re different, Myf.”

  “What’s different?”

  “You. When was the last time you sang and danced? You hide yourself more than you did.”

  “A) I’ve been sober and that reduces the amount of public singing and dancing. And B) I’m overwhelmed by where I work. Plus, there’s this guy I’m married to who confuses me.”

  “We can get the annulment if that’s what you want.”

  I look up sharply. “Why? Want to lose the bet?”

  “The timing would be bad, but I hate to think I’m making things worse for you. I’ve been selfish.”

  I poke a finger in one ear, as if I need to clear them to hear properly. “Pardon? Did you just admit you’re selfish?”

  “Kinda. But it’s too late now.” He drinks. “You never told me which charity I’m being robbed to pay.”

  “Women’s shelter,” I reply. “My friend in Wales runs the organisation.”

  “Good choice.” Tate taps his fingers on the table and looks over my shoulder before turning his eyes back to me. “I’ll still pay, whatever happens. If you can’t keep this up, I’ll contact my lawyers.”

  This time he plays with his glass, and his face resembles my brooding Dev. “We should talk about what happened in Vegas sometime,” I say.

  “Yeah. I can fill in the blanks for you.”

  “Parts trickle through.”

  “Anything interesting?”

  “No,” I lie. “And it’s okay. I can wait a few more weeks.”

  Tate drains his glass and holds it up. “Staying for another?”

  Why do I want to stay—here and in this weird situation? I lied I didn’t want to be around him, but the more time we spend together, even just as co-stars, the further he worms into my mind. The dreams continue and become more explicit, as my body begs to join my mind. I avoid him and the effect he has on me, tell myself it’s the confusion between his character and him, but now... I can’t turn back. A few hours ago, keeping out of Tate’s power over the situation became impossible.

  “You never asked me what I thought about the kiss,” he says.

  I almost choke on my apple juice at his question and ability to read me. “I presumed it was just another kiss. Unremarkable. That’s how you work isn’t it, Tate?”

  “As an actor or a man?”

  “Both.”

  “Why am I a bad guy because I don’t do relationships?”

  “I never said you were a bad guy, Tate. That’s your choice.”

  “Oh, yes you did, Myf.” He leans across the table and pokes my nose. “Queen of Memory Blanks. You gave me a huge bloody lecture in Vegas.” I frown at myself. “I never knew my behaviour bothered you as much as it did back in the RADA days.”

  “You’ve always been a player, even in your early days at college. Always with your leading ladies and breaking their hearts. I’m not stupid. I know you lined me up as your next conquest when we acted together.”

  He studies me, and I shift beneath his intense gaze. “Is that why you kept away from me back then? And now?”

  “Yes. You screwed one of my friends and told her it was a one night, when she didn’t think it was.”

  “I never promise what I don’t want to give.” He pauses. “It’s not my fault they expect more than I offer. I’m upfront with girls. I’ve never stayed around long enough to make girls think we’re in a relationship. They should know my reputation, one I happily own. I’m a good-looking guy and I usually get the girl I want. All I’m doing is enjoying life until I meet the right person, nothing more.”

  “No broken heart or unrequited love to explain your jerk behaviour?”

  “Nope. No excuses. And don’t patronise me by calling me a jerk. If I cheated on girls, yeah, but I don’t. You need to be in a relationship to cheat. Not committing to more than a few hook-ups does not make me a jerk.” His brow furrows.

  “What does it make you?”

  He pauses and rubs his lips with a thumb. “Not worth a girl’s time if she wants more. I’m not interested in anybody tying me down. Simple.”

  “Says the married man.” He pokes his tongue out, and we share a small smile. “But you won’t meet ‘the one’ if you don’t have relationships, Tate.”

  “I’ll know when I meet the woman I want to spend my life with, and I’ll marry her.”

  He props his hand beneath his chin, elbow on the table as the conversation pauses. Something unspoken wavers between us. Why do I feel he thinks my question is loaded?

  “If I did miss ‘the one’, fate would bring her back around again. She’d come back into my life at the right time.”

  My head spins a little as I fight against my ears turning pink under his gaze. “I hope that won’t happen soon. You’d need to wait until you’re divorced for her to come around for a third time.”

  Tate cl
utches his chest. “Hey, don’t mention divorce. I’m trying to be romantic and sensitive here. Y’know, fate bringing me the love of my life.”

  “Waste of time, I no longer believe in that crap.”

  “Nor do I really.” Miles enters my head, and apparently my expression.

  Tate straightens. “Have you seen him again?”

  “Who?”

  “The guy who took your heart and convinced you not to love again.”

  Again with the reading me. I shift in my seat. “No.”

  “So you’re not thinking about taking him back? Trying again? You once told me he was your soul mate.”

  “No. Drop this. I wish I’d never used that bullshit word. Should’ve said infatuated instead.” I gulp down some juice. Shut up.

  “I mean, not like you could anyway, being married to me and everything...,” he continues, as if he didn’t hear.

  “I’ll stick with my fictional relationships.” I poke my tongue into a cheek. “Ours and theirs.”

  “Dev and Brit? I’m happy to rehearse anything you think we need to do. Kissing, for instance, to keep the chemistry going.”

  “I bet you are.”

  Tate leans across the table and touches my lips. “And more. I’m open to any offers you have.”

  His self-assured cockiness usually manages to push down the rising attraction but I’m wired from earlier and what sparks between us now. I hold my breath and shut down my senses, his scent and warmth delving straight into the desire.

  “Can I accompany you to your room, Mrs Daniels?” he whispers.

  “What?”

  He smirks as he sits back and laces his fingers behind his head. “To the door, Myf. I’m heading for an early night too.”

  I attempt to suppress, and fail to, a laugh at Tate Daniel’s heading to bed at 9.00 p.m. “Why is that funny?”

  “No reason.”

  “Can I?” He stands too.

  “There’s only one elevator, I don’t have a choice.”

  We don’t speak again on the trip up to the rooms. As predicted, Tate’s room’s on a higher floor. I’d ask what his looks like but don’t want him to misconstrue my reason for asking. The atmosphere doesn’t drop, my head dizzied with his presence in the elevator confines.

  Apparently his insistence he’ll walk me to my door is true, as he steps into the quiet hallway with me.

  I nod my head in the direction of my room. “I’m here. See you tomorrow.”

  Tate places hands in his jacket pockets, his silence ramping up my pulse rate. What if he touches me? Tries to kiss me again?

  Hell, I want him to.

  No. No way. I don’t.

  “Good night, Tate.” I turn away to swipe my key card, and the plastic sticks against my perspiring palm.

  I push down the handle and look over my shoulder at him. A frown troubles his brow. Did he seriously expect me to invite him in?

  I step inside and turn. “Bye, Tate.”

  “Good night, Mrs Daniels.”

  Before I can retort, he gives a small bow and closes the door between us.

  21

  Our conversation cycles around my head as I dig out my pyjamas and ready myself for bed. I stare back at the woman in the mirror as I brush my teeth, hair loose across my shoulders. I rarely wear my hair in a ponytail nowadays; that’s Brit’s preferred hairstyle, and I don’t want to take her home with me.

  Strikes me as odd that Tate spoke about himself, but he didn’t mention if he was indulging his enjoyment of women. I hate the sick feeling accompanying thoughts of his hands on girls.

  Hypocrite.

  Somebody raps on the hotel door. I’d complain they’re a late visitor, but I’m the early to bed girl.

  I pull open the door and come face to face with the man I saw minutes ago.

  “Tate?” I ask through a mouthful of toothpaste.

  “I need to talk to you about something.”

  Great. Here I am in barely-covering-my-backside pink pyjama shorts and braless under a vest top leaving little to the imagination. A top with the imprinted words ‘Kiss Me Goodnight,’ surrounded by a roughly drawn love heart.

  “Interesting.” He points at my chest and I cross my arms over. “Should I follow your instructions?”

  I try hard not to, but my breath rushes past the white foam from my mouth. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  He moistens his lips as he looks at mine. “I like it when you taste of mint.”

  I move away from the door as Tate moves closer, which is undoubtedly the first bad move. My arms remain crossed over my chest, toothbrush still in hand.

  “Wait there.” I rush into the bathroom.

  Shit. Shit. Shit. Tate in my room. Tate who my body reminds me kissed like a pro before. Unclean thoughts tighten my stomach as I bend down to rinse my mouth of toothpaste.

  “Oh!” I straighten to see Tate behind me, reflected in the mirror and I swear his eyes were on my ass. I turn and grip the toothbrush as a damp and useless weapon against him.

  “What did you want to talk about?” I crane my head past him. “My script’s over there, is there something you need to run through for tomorrow?”

  Tate in my bathroom. Small space. Want to kiss him.

  I blink and hope the words stammering across my disintegrating brain didn’t reflect on my face. Tate leans over me as he reaches to turn off the tap, arm brushing my bare shoulder. A new shiver runs through me, and I’m mortified when my nipples harden.

  “What is it you wanted, Tate?” Obvious question. “Uh, to talk about I mean.”

  “I’m obsessed,” he says in a low voice.

  I swallow. “Obsessed by what?”

  “You.” One word. One look. One desire to grab his unruly hair and kiss him hard. “I’ve tried for weeks to figure out if you feel something underneath everything you show me on the surface, but the way you kissed me today...” He trails off and brushes a thumb across my cheek.

  “That kiss was Brit,” I half squeak, betraying myself further.

  “That kiss was uncontrolled,” he whispers. “Unprofessional.”

  “Don’t you dare accuse me of being unprofessional.”

  He trails his warm fingers along my cheek, resting them on my lips instead. “I’ve kissed my fair share of actresses and none have kissed me like that before. You kissed me the way you did in Vegas.”

  The sink digs into my back as I attempt to move from him, but wherever I stand in this small space, I won’t avoid physical contact. “Vegas?”

  “Just after you married me.” He smiles. “Sealed with a kiss.”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “And I need to talk to you about what happened. It’s fucking killing me.”

  His chest brushes mine, not helping the arousal behind my thin top. Thank god, he has his shirt on and I’m not unlucky enough to have that perfect chest pressed against mine. Unlucky. Lucky. Whatever.

  “I want another kiss like before, but this time from Myf.”

  Mirroring earlier, Tate moves in to place his lips by mine, leaving the decision to me. My breathing struggle mirrors earlier too, but I’m not acting here. If he touches me... “Let me know if you’re interested.”

  His breath against my ear and cheek, warming my skin, arouses me enough so when his hand curls around the back of my head, I’m gone. The moment I push my mouth on his, Tate claims my mouth in a sudden, intense kiss. His hands move so he’s holding my face, and I press myself against him. Holy... I circle his neck with my hands, and dig fingers into his hair, gripping onto him the way he is me, in a kiss unlikely to stop any time soon. As I do, he makes a small noise of surprise and presses himself against the sink, spinning me around and grabbing my ass, pulling me into him.

  I tear my mouth away, desperate to bring some oxygen into the situation, and Tate switches to gentle kisses along my neck and collarbone. His heated breath comes in short bursts as he slides both hands along my sides. His hands are as warm as the soft
lips, heating as his desire grows. The harder I push against him, the more aware of his arousal I am, and the barrier between us does nothing but set wet heat of my own. All that’s between me and his hand is the thin shorts.

  I push the unbuttoned shirt from his shoulders and place eager hands on the abs I stare at every day, absentmindedly imagining licking them. The thought tightens everywhere, and I drag my fingers along the ridges. His grip on my waist intensifies, fingers digging hard into my skin.

  I need this. Him. Here. To take from him what he’s always wanted to give, because this was never about giving myself to him. Crushing my mouth against Tate’s, he parts his lips and I push my tongue into his mouth. A low growl comes from his throat and hands move to grip my ass again.

  Our kiss ticks up several notches into a frenzied battle between tongues, consuming, the heat between us burning skin. My face hurts from his scruff, every sense overloaded by him. I’m close to the man as Dev every day. I kissed the man who smelt this way. But he didn’t outpour passion like this.

  Tate pushes a hand up the leg of my shorts, playing fingers against the skin. I press harder, and a small noise escapes my throat as my sensitive clit rubs the bulge in his jeans.

  Tate tears his head away and fixes me with a look I’ve never seen on a guy’s face before. The lust covers his expression, darkened eyes telling me exactly what he’s planning, but something else flickers too, something I can’t catch.

  Hand still on my ass, he cups my cheek and strokes the red marks around my mouth. “Man, you kiss better than Brit. You’re driving me crazy here.”

  Fingers slide down my soft skin, between us, to my thighs’ apex and I take a sharp breath as he skims the soft mound with his finger. Tate flips me over so my back’s against the sink instead, and nudges my legs apart with his knee.

  “Never, ever tell me again you don’t want me.” He fingers part my folds and he glides one along me. “Because you’re wet, and all I’ve done is kiss you.”

  My skin flushes from cheeks to chest, nipples aching for his attention. He holds his palm against my heat, watching. What for? Teasing or waiting for permission?