by Angel Payne
The bustle, translated into controlled chaos, always invigorated her. Today it accomplished more. It made her feel anonymous, and safe in that concealment. From the second she heard Charlie approaching on the other side of the set walls, guiding their visitors in his most charming tour guide lilt, the plywood and foam core barriers might as well have turned into woven scrims for the protection they gave against her awareness of the group on the other side.
The group containing Ethan Archer.
Stay on task. Just get to the hallway and get out of here. Don’t think about him. Don’t think about how wonderful your heart feels against your ribs simply because he’s in the same building. Don’t think about how perfect it would be to see him again, to bask in the intensity of his eyes and the magic of his smile. Soldiers are bad for you, Ava—and he’s a super soldier. Special Forces. Not going to happen. Can’t happen.
“What the hell is that?”
She froze. Shit. Why did it have to be Ethan who tossed out the query, his tone so melodic yet so electric? His baritone zapped her nervous system like a spark on charged air, wrapping around her…pulling her feet the wrong damn direction. Toward the set.
What could the harm be in indulging one fast, secret peek?
“Oh, dear fuck.”
She recognized the sneer before even getting visual confirmation on its source. Sure enough, Zeke Hayes was the one who stood there rolling his eyes at Ethan. Ava smiled to see him tug her cousin, Rayna, into the crook of his shoulder. Ray giggled and circled her arms around her man’s muscled waist. Next to them stood Z’s best friend, Garrett, and his wife, Sage. Their hands were twined on top of Sage’s prominent baby bump, and Ava wouldn’t be surprised if the pair glowed in the dark with happiness. On the other side of the couple were Tait Bommer and Kellan Rush, often referred to as the battalion’s “Bullet Ninjas” because of their sniper abilities. Tait looked like a surfing idol from the Rincon shore, while Kellan represented a dark-eyed god of the Sunset Boulevard club crowd. Grinning along with them were Rhett Lange and Rebel Stafford, respectively the brains and brawn of the team. Rhett liked to blow out computer systems; Rebel liked to blow in doors. Like everyone else, they chuckled at Zeke’s rejoinder.
Actually, everyone seemed to be having a great time…except Ethan.
The electrical storm whipped harder through Ava as she stepped closer to the window in the set and looked at him. With his brows tightened and his lips twisted, he looked supremely miffed at Zeke, though she could tell his tension hadn’t started there. It had been a part of him for a while now. It stiffened the planes of his shoulders, banded the breadth of his torso, hardened every muscle down his impossibly long legs. Throw a set of BDUs and a battle vest on him and the man would be ready to march into the thick of a battle to the death. The deadly warrior image certainly wasn’t hurt by what he had on now, either. Skintight black T-shirt, dark jeans, and biker boots were topped by a scuffed leather jacket, officially turning her quickie peek into a transfixed stare.
“What?” he barked at Zeke. One side of his beautiful mouth curled up. “It’s a legitimate question.”
Tait sauntered forward, gold eyes glittering with mirth. “It’s…uh…called a microphone, Runway. I know growing up in Silicon Valley must’ve been hard; you probably weren’t exposed to many of these newfangled technical gadgets, but—follow me, now—they use it to record the actors’ voices. That’s how you can hear them talking when you watch them on TV.”
The group snickered. Ethan glared harder. “Shut your hole, ass munch. I know what it is.”
Tait chuffed. “Need those knickers twisted a little tighter, Runway? With your panties gone, the whole world can watch your cute ass as a little better while you moon over—”
“Shut. Up.”
Tait looked ready to smack Ethan from pure frustration and Ava backed up the desire. He was “mooning” over someone? That was practically a rhetorical question. The man was wound up about something—or in this case, someone. But who? And if it wasn’t her, did she want to know?
You have no right to know.
She’d ignored every one of his calls, messages, and attempts at contact since getting back from Seattle seven months ago. She’d made the right choice for her life. Whether Ethan believed it or not, for his, too. So if he’d moved on to getting his “knickers twisted” for someone else, she needed to be happy for him. She could do that, couldn’t she?
The answer got stuck in her throat as she watched him cock his head, spearing Charlie with curiosity that edged on innocence. It made his adjoining question all the more adorable.
“Dude, why is the microphone wearing a condom?”
Sage spit out her gulp of water. Rayna giggled again. Garrett and Zeke let out matching groans of the f word. But Tait’s expression actually changed to a glance of respect. “Huh,” he said. “You’re right.” He looked at Charlie. “Why does it have that thing on it?”
Chaz’s stance changed, too. He straightened from polite to commanding. As he launched into the advantages of foam microphone covers, reveling in the attention he got from a bunch of hunks who also relied on high-performance equipment to accomplish their jobs, Ava recognized her chance to slip away. You’ve had your peek. And your stare. Now back off from the window, Chestain, before—
“Hey, Ava! Do me a favor and move that tree about a foot to your right, would ya? The light’s hitting it wrong.”
Before someone like Blake, the set decorating lead, called to her just like that.
“Shit.”
She spat it as she tugged the prop over, not pausing to acknowledge Blake’s thanks. Or maybe she did. It was very possible, since every muscle in her body turned to ice as soon as she watched Ethan’s head whip around at the mention of her name. Time didn’t help matters, congealing to sludge that dragged every step she attempted—and made it possible for his gaze to stab into hers before she launched into motion.
Keep moving. Keep moving. Don’t look back. Keep moving.
The order vibrated through every shaky gasp she made while whirling and hurrying through the maze of flats, cords, ladders, wires, tool boxes and chairs. So many chairs. Damn it; nobody ever sat around here; why did they need so many chairs? And why had she worn three-inch boots today? And why did everyone pick this exact second to tromp in her way?
“Ava.”
His call severed the air, shattering the ice beneath her skin into freezing shards through her bloodstream. She didn’t alter her pace. She couldn’t. The door was just a few feet away. Past it was a restricted access zone. His visitor’s pass would get him stopped faster than a gate crasher at the Oscars. She’d be safe again.
“Ava.”
She fought the pull of his voice. Resisted the urgent command of it, the fierce need. No, damn it. She was weaving meanings that weren’t there. All they’d shared, all those months ago, was a kiss. After that, she’d all but told him to shove off. If anything, he was here to ask her for a reimbursement check for the birthday flowers that had filled her living room in February.
Keep moving. Almost there.
“Ava!”
Long fingers, steel and flesh certainly fused together, twisted around her elbow. Inside a second, they hauled her into the props and greenery prep room. Inside another whoosh, she was pinned against the wall while the door was booted shut.
And then her world became only him.
Ethan, burying a hand in her hair. Ethan, sealing his lips over hers. Ethan, tangling his tongue against hers as his body, so hard and big, fitted perfectly against the apex of hers. Consuming her senses with his leathery, dark pepper scent. Filling each heartbeat with his passion. Like the mist in which he’d first done this to her, blocking everything but his force, his strength, his desire.
So much for breathing.
As soon as he released her, she struggled to do so, anyway. Once his stare impaled her, that cobalt intensity piercing straight to her center, she flew a white flag on the effort. A million wor
ds blasted through her head. Not a single one found its way to her mouth. Her lungs and her heart crashed against each other as he slid a rough thumb over the stinging pads of her lips.
“Hello, sunshine.”
His murmur slunk through her body like smoke, the tendrils turning the ice into simmered drops. They pooled into the layers of her sex, soaking her panties, finally making her throat work again. A high-pitched gasp spilled from her, humiliating and liberating at once. Crap, crap, crap.
“Ethan.” Why did it sound like a prayer instead of a protest? Why did he confirm the mortifying fact by letting his eyelids grow heavy, his thick lashes brushing his burnished cheeks as he observed every movement on her face and every breath on her lips? Life bustled by just three feet away, beyond the door, but his focus made her feel like they’d jumped to another planet.
“It wasn’t a dream.” His whisper fanned her face. “Was it?” He swept his thumb beneath her chin to tug her face up, pulling her deeper into his hold, his presence. “Tell me,” he charged, capturing one of her wrists beneath his other hand, flattening it to the wall. “I want to hear you say it, damn it.”
A sigh clamored up her throat. “No.” She finally relented. “It wasn’t. It…” It was wonderful. And I’ve thought about it every day since. I’ve thought about you every day…
Though she confined the words to thoughts, she couldn’t keep them from playing across her face. As they did, his eyes dilated and his lips parted. With a harsh grunt that made her vagina clench, he bore down on her with another kiss. His lips demanded more now, taking every corner of her mouth, every ounce of her passion, every drop of her obeisance. She was helpless to give him anything less. She was in sheer heaven because of it.
She was in deep trouble.
She knew it even before the door to the room opened again—but even more so as soon as it did. Ethan tore his mouth from hers while a man as big as him strode in, sporting a dark skull-crop cut and a smile that descended into a gawk. “Runway?” He took in their positions, with their crotches locked and Ethan’s hand bolting hers to the wall, and clearly filled in the blanks for himself.
Ethan gave a curt nod. “Captain.”
“Captain?”
Ava answered herself with a groan. Of course. She’d seen the man at Sage and Garrett’s wedding, albeit briefly and without his full clothes on. He’d barged into the ceremony in a T-shirt and shorts, having been drugged and then abandoned in Vegas as part of the plan for the bastard who’d nearly recaptured Rayna into white slavery that day.
“Hi.” The man swung his gaze at her.
“Uh…hi.”
“Ava.” Ethan directed her name toward his captain, though his tone was more explanatory than introductory. The next moment, she saw why.
“Ohhh,” the guy exclaimed. “That Ava?”
Ethan nodded. “Uh-huh.”
“Wow. Ava.”
“Ava?” The outburst came from Charlie this time. He rounded the door with a scowl but after his own inspection of she and Ethan, he joined Ethan’s captain on the lascivious grin duties.
Hell.
She squirmed against Ethan’s hold. “Charlie—”
“Franz?” The game of musical names was taken up by Zeke, who stepped into the room with Garrett and a couple more guys from the team. “And look! Ava!”
“What?” The jolt of her cousin’s joy filled the air. “Where? Oh my God, Ava!” Rayna surged in but stopped short, repeating Charlie’s assessment. “Oh, my God. Um…Ava.”
Ava sent a pleading gaze toward the ceiling. The next person who stammered her name was going to get a knee to their gut.
“Ava?”
The distinct stress on the second syllable was only ever used by one person. Because of course, fate had decided to make her its bitch today.
“Ava?”
Bella stepped fully into the room. She tossed a dismissive glance at Charlie and the battalion boys before sweeping her attention toward the wall where Ethan still had her pinned.
“Mierda.” The groan surged from the depths of Ava’s stomach. With a couple of urgent jerks, she wrenched away from Ethan. “Bella, listen—I can ex—”
“Ethan?”
Normally Bella’s interruption would be situation normal. In this case, it would’ve even been a relief—except for the name the woman had picked for her interjection. And the smile, broad and enthralled, she tagged onto it. That look had charmed fans, journalists, and critics across a shitload of demographics in eight countries. In short, her I-want-you-in-the-palm-of-my-hand-now smile.
“Huh?” Ethan blurted it more like a chore than a word. Whether she wanted to let it go or not, Ava gave him another snippet of her heart in that moment. He was still genuinely impervious to most of the mob in the room, with his stare still transfixed on her.
Bella stunned them both by stepping forward and shoving his jacket and T-shirt nearly all the way off his left shoulder. In doing so, she exposed the silvered line of a nasty scar that bridged his collarbone.
“Oh shit,” Ava blurted.
“What the—” Ethan uttered. “How did you know about—”
“Ethan!” Bella cried again. “Oh, my God, it is you!”
Ethan looked from the scar to Bella. His brows hunkered as his gaze sharpened. “Brenda?” he mumbled. “Brenda Lanzani?”
“Oh, yes! Yes, yes, yes!”
As Bella topped that with a long squee, Ava glanced to Charlie. They mouthed the same words to each other. What the hell?
“Ohhh, Ethan!” The woman’s breathy elation got worse. “I can’t believe it!”
Ava’s gut sounded with a dozen alarms. But she didn’t get to defending her heart in time. A chunk of it got hacked off in time to get wedged in her throat while watching the star’s weirdness morph into a full Bella Blitz on Ethan. No, that wasn’t right. “Blitz” implied that the target didn’t have a clue. Ethan was not clueless. As Bella pressed herself against the man, she did so with the confidence of a woman who’d been in his arms before. He braced his hands to her waist with the same familiarity. And as she tilted her lips up, catching his at the perfect angle for a full-press kiss, it was clear the woman had been in that territory, too. Lots of times.
Damn it.
Chapter Three
What. The. Fuck?
It set a good tempo for the thoughts going balls-for-batshit at each other through Ethan’s brain. This wasn’t how he envisioned the day, or even the hour, playing out.
Three minutes ago, he’d been kissing the woman of his fantasies. Now he was forcibly locking lips with the ex of his nightmares—or at least that was who the creature claimed to be. Two minutes ago, he was plotting how to keep the door to this room locked so he could seal the deal on Ava never ignoring him again. Now, he couldn’t wait to get the hell out of here.
And one minute ago, he’d thanked the Creator for finally smiling on him. For the first time in seven months, not a shred of ugliness had crawled into his waking mind. No picking through the resistance of some drug dealer or terrorist, no dissecting some asshole’s body language to detect signs the guy was lying, cheating, high, or just stupid. For once, he’d gotten to let the suspicions down and bask in something pure. Something good. Something exactly what it was supposed to be. Passion. Warmth. Sunshine.
What the hell had happened?
With a growl, he grabbed the wrists Brenda had thrown around his neck, using the leverage to thrust her back. Franzen was still in the room; for that reason, he didn’t do anything more than plant the woman a step away. “It’s—uh—been a while, Bren,” he stammered. “You look…really different.”
Somebody was dialing the understatement cops for that one. Brenda’s face, which still possessed the same brilliant bronze eyes but had been topographically changed in every other way, quirked in what seemed a soft smile. He couldn’t be sure. She didn’t smile the same way. Her teeth were bigger, her chin was smaller, her nose was shorter, and her cheeks were higher.
&nb
sp; “Thank you, babe,” she said smoothly, “but you know it’s not ‘Brenda’ anymore, right?”
So much for sweeping tension out of the way. The second she said babe, he watched every vertebra in Ava’s spine go tight. Not acceptable.
“Hmm. Sounds cool. So I’ll drop the ‘Brenda’ and you drop the ‘babe’ and we’ll be squared up, all right?”
He looked up in time to catch a meaningful glance fly between Ava and Charlie Jenkow. They were obviously friends. That explained the subtle once-over he’d gotten from the guy when they’d arrived. Looked like his bluntness to Brenda, or whatever the hell she was calling herself these days, had earned Jenkow’s approval. It clearly didn’t sit so well with Brenda, who tipped another weird smile.
“Uh…right,” she finally replied. “Though you do know what everyone calls me now, yes?”
A long silence took over the room. He was clearly supposed to confirm that but the words would be a lie. He was officially lost here. Forcing his gaze away from Bella, Ethan locked a gaze onto Charlie, openly bumming some help off the guy.
Thankfully, Charlie believed in the friend-of-a-friend honor system. With a convincing face palm, the man stepped forward and exclaimed, “For the love of Peter, Paul, and Mary. Where did my manners go?” Charlie lifted Brenda’s hand with a gallant sweep. “Gentlemen, though I’m certain most of you are familiar with this icon, I’d like to officially introduce Miss Bella Lanza, the star of Dress Blues.”
This time, Ethan didn’t have to fake his reaction. His grin was genuine. “Wow. Star, huh?” He looked over the expensive details she rocked besides the plastic surgery, from the diamonds on her manicured fingers and the trendy shoes on her elegant feet, and couldn’t believe this was the cute theater major with whom he’d shared Friday night pizza and bike rides across the Stanford campus. “You’re really all grown up,” he murmured. “Good for you, Bren—” He borrowed the face palm move from Charlie. “Shit. Sorry. Bella.”