Playing the Part

by Robin Covington

  “Wasn’t that a line from one of your movies?” she asked.

  “Yep. Deadly Menace, Part Three,” he answered, sliding into the seat beside her just like he owned the place.

  She tried to act cool when he grasped her hand, but her stomach did a little “lord of the dance” routine in her stomach at the touch. Damn.

  Everyone around them was noticing him as well, and wherever he went, the press was bound to follow. When he leaned in close, she could smell him, everything warm and dark, a complex scent that made her toes curl and her panties grow damp. She needed to behave, so she pulled her hand out of his grip. “I’m assuming this is no coincidence,” she said.

  He shrugged. “I knew where you were, and I figured I could stop by. I came to have coffee, dessert, a little conversation. Get to know each other better. Besides, I think we need to get some stuff out of the way first.”

  She looked at Chris for guidance, but he only shrugged his broad shoulders, clearly pissed at the intrusion. Well, that was helpful. Not.

  “Okay, I’ll bite. What stuff?” she asked.

  “Tomorrow we meet with Charlie. I have a reshoot of an earlier scene, and he’ll look to you for serious input on my performance. I want us both on the same page, working together. I got called to go out last night, so I didn’t get to read your book, but I was hoping you can give me some pointers on character motivation.”

  His hand closed over hers on the table. She bit back a little gasp at the contact. There was something between them, and she didn’t know how to handle it—not because she was out of practice, but because the last time she’d felt this kind of instantaneous attraction it had been with Antonio. She’d gotten in over her head before she even knew she was in the water. This was thrilling and dangerous, an easy temptation.

  She needed to be careful.

  “I think with your help, I can blow away this part.” Mick stroked his thumb softly along her knuckle. In contrast, his stare was sharp, focused, and told her he wouldn’t take no for an answer. “So, help me?”

  Chris cleared his throat, but she waved a hand at him to shut up.

  Geez. She was being sweet-talked by a man who’d been given the gift by the Almighty. Mick had the sexiest mouth to tell his little lies with—if they were lies. She really couldn’t tell. Her gut said he was sincere, but Antonio had killed off the little voice of wisdom that had never steered her wrong.

  She seriously missed that voice.

  Without it, she would have left her bedroom door closed and missed the scene of her fiancé screwing her ex–best friend on their thousand-dollar, Egyptian cotton sheets.

  She’d burned those sheets, her wedding dress, and all of Antonio’s shit in the apartment building incinerator—had destroyed everything but his ability to continue screwing her over with the truckload of insecurity he’d left behind.

  She looked at Mick. His inability to connect with the character of Chance was why she was here, and she knew the director would report back to her publisher about her cooperation. But she knew full well that underneath the question lay a second one: Mick wasn’t just asking for her help in his portrayal of Chance—he was asking her to go to bed with him.

  Right after Antonio left, she’d been too raw to consider sex with anyone. Once she’d decided to date again, her only fear was her heart being stomped on, but sex was never the problem. She was young, healthy, and loved men. With Mick, she just needed to make sure it remained private fun and games, because she would be crazy to miss her chance with this exciting, sexy, funny man.

  All she had to do was take the leap. She was the only thing standing in her way.

  A delicious tingling started in the tips of her toes. What could it hurt? This mixture of business and pleasure would be a tricky one to pull off, but it would only be for a couple of weeks. As long as she avoided any negative spotlight, she should coast into a new contract with her publisher, having indulged in decadence while she fulfilled her promise to help Mick with the character of Chance.

  “Of course I’ll help,” she agreed. The minute the words passed her lips, she wondered if she’d regret them.

  The sudden brightening of Mick’s eyes told her he’d understood her hidden meaning.

  Too late now.

  “That’s my cue to leave.” Chris stood and signaled for the waitress to bring him the check. He dug around for his wallet, movements jerky, shoulders stiff. Everything about him screamed “you’re out of your fucking mind.”

  “You don’t have to,” Piper said politely.

  “I have an early conference call tomorrow with the New York office. You don’t need me here for this conversation.”

  Chris paid the bill, took his leave with a kiss for her and a terse handshake for Mick, and before she could say “bad idea,” they were alone. Mick signaled the waitress for two coffees and sprawled in his chair, long legs extended under the table, his calf brushing hers when he shifted to speak. She resisted the urge to press back against his weight, silently savoring the warmth it created in her blood before easing her leg away. They were in a public place, and people had already noticed Mick. She’d spent a year hiding from the media. She didn’t want to bring attention to herself now.

  “You and Chris seem very close,” Mick said.

  “Yeah. We’ve been friends since college at Alabama.”

  “Did you two ever…”

  “Ever…” Piper watched as he gestured between her and the chair where Chris had been sitting. What was he… Oh. She laughed. “No. The only dates we went on were official functions where he needed a girl on his arm.” At the perplexed look on Mick’s face, she explained. “It was difficult being a gay football player in college and the NFL. I provided the correct gender eye candy.”

  “Gotcha.” Mick nodded, helping the waitress place the coffee and other items on the table. “I didn’t realize…”

  “I won’t tell him. It would break his heart. He’s been staring at your ass all day.”

  “I don’t know what to say to that.” Mick blushed a little and dipped his head, the gesture giving him an unexpectedly innocent air.

  It was enticing. Her fingers itched to reach out and see if his skin had also warmed, but she wrapped her hands around her cup and took a fortifying sip. She needed to keep this professional until they weren’t sitting in full view of fans with cell phone cameras. She’d spent the entire afternoon watching him on screen, remembering his smell, his touch, and wishing he was there. She wanted him. He wanted her. It could be just that easy.

  “He doesn’t like me,” Mick stated, reaching for the sugar bowl.

  “He wants to kick your ass.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want you.”

  He lifted his head and nailed her with those eyes. Sexual heat seemed to wend across the table to grab her by the shoulders and give her a shake.

  “You’re beautiful,” he murmured.

  Now it was her turn to blush. People complemented each other all the time. It was standard in most greetings, like “how are you” and “have a nice day.” Bottom line: no one really cared about your day. But she could tell Mick meant what he said, and the realization made her squirm in her seat as the heat left her cheeks and transformed into something aching in her breasts.

  “You don’t have to feed me a line.”

  “It’s not a line. I love the ‘librarian meets Katy Perry’ thing you’ve got going. Very sexy.” He cocked his head to one side, his mouth unfolding into a slow, sensual smile. “Are the glasses real, or are they part of the look?”

  Piper laughed, releasing the breath she’d been holding. Her hand flew up, fingers fiddling with the frames. Most of the time she forgot she was wearing them. “They’re real. I’m blind as a bat without them.”

  “Hmm…” He leaned in and whispered, “Will you take them off and say, ‘you’ve been a very bad boy and you need to be punished’?”

  She laughed, the light sound bubbling up and spilling over. Several ne
arby patrons glanced over before huddling back together to talk about the movie star and the girl he was with.

  Mick’s tone was contrite. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist.”

  “No. It was—” The words stalled in her throat as their hands brushed, his fingers closing over hers in a move so bold she couldn’t write it off as an accident. Mick had shifted in his chair, and now he was close enough she could smell the coffee on his warm breath as it ghosted over her skin. Images of the two of them role-playing—Mick on his knees as she doled out his punishment—flashed through her mind and set her blood on fire.

  Mick stared at her, his green-gold gaze flicking down to watch her tongue moisten her suddenly dry lips, and she leaned in closer before she could stop herself. Her slight movement was mirrored by him and then…oh God…

  They were kissing. His mouth, warm and urgent, brushing against her own as she pressed back, searching for that perfect alignment.

  He tasted of rich coffee with an undertone of sugar sweetness and something uniquely Mick. Their position shifted slightly and his tongue, slick velvet, entered her mouth with no hesitation. She welcomed it.

  He wove his hand through her hair, palm anchoring her mouth in the perfect position for Mick to go deeper with the kiss, to be more possessive. She hummed in approval, brushing her own finger tentatively against the soft fabric of his shirt, feeling the tattoo of his own racing heartbeat. Her thighs clenched together under the table, the pressure increasing the sharp pleasure building in her sex.

  “Can I get you a refill, Mr. Blackwell?”

  They broke apart with a gasp on her part and a muffled swear on his. Piper shook her head, the bustle of the restaurant suddenly loud and disorienting in her ears. She glanced around them, watching as people sat with phones raised, obviously taking pictures of the two of them.

  Chagrin shot through her. God. What made her so unable to behave in public? Had she learned nothing from her post-Antonio fiasco? She resisted the urge to put her hand up to her face and block the shots.

  Mick recovered quickly, making small talk with the waitress. Piper touched her lips with her fingers, the physical imprint of his lips on hers the way a hint of her lip gloss clung to his. The waitress walked away with a little smirk tossed over her shoulder as Mick turned back to Piper. No doubt or regret reflected in his expression.

  Piper wasn’t conflicted about the kiss, either. She wanted him. She ached to have him kiss her again, to take her to bed. But they hadn’t even gotten out of the restaurant before she’d broken her own rule. What the hell was she doing?

  Panic rose in her belly, its tight grip and violent butterflies making it impossible for her to think clearly. Across the table, Mick quirked an eyebrow at her, opening his mouth to speak—and she freaked out, doing the first thing that came to mind.

  She ran like a girl.

  …

  Five minutes later, still sitting alone at the restaurant table, Mick started to wonder if Piper had shimmied out the restroom window. Though he briefly considered following her, he eventually decided against it. She apparently needed a moment to pull herself together, and he couldn’t blame her. Hell, he was sitting down and seriously doubted whether he could walk a straight line with the leftover arousal coursing through his muscles.

  Mick licked his lower lip, the spicy taste of Piper’s mouth and cocoa-flavored lip gloss a perfect complement to the coffee. He’d kissed lots of women, on screen and off, but Piper’s touch had lit him up like the pyrotechnics they used on his movies. He surreptitiously adjusted his jeans at the memory of how she melted into him, the silk of her hair sliding against the back of his hand, the velvet of her tongue as it chased his own. He wanted more.

  But the stubborn tilt of her chin and the panic in her eyes right before she bolted into her impromptu fifty-yard dash told him he was on shaky ground. He needed to remember that in addition to wanting her in his bed, he needed her good opinion to get Charlie off his back until he could fix the problem at work. That meant he needed to get “little Mick” under control and keep his naughty librarian fantasies to himself—at least until she gave him the green light. If he played this right, he’d nail his performance in the movie and get to nail his hotter-than-fuck consultant over and over again.

  “Hey.”

  Mick was surprised to see Piper standing in front of him. Her expression was more composed, but her quick glances around the room revealed the tension still remaining. He stood to pull out her chair.

  “I should go,” she said, moving around him and heading toward the door.

  “Wait.” Mick followed her, caught up with her at the hostess station, lightly grabbing her arm and forcing her to turn and look up at him. He didn’t like the shuttered look in her eyes on so many levels—personally, sexually, professionally. The easy chemistry between them was fractured, and he wanted it back.

  “I’m sorry about the kiss.”

  “I’m not.” She maintained her gaze for a moment, then dropped her eyes as her cheeks tinted pink. When she lifted her head, her expression was fierce, her voice low and firm. “I want to do it again.”

  Hell. He really didn’t need to hear that right this moment. Not with her taste still on his mouth. His dick had settled down but now stiffened in his jeans at her words. He shifted in place to try and convince it to follow the game plan.

  Piper noticed his movement, looked down at his crotch, and rolled her eyes. “But not tonight.” She turned to the young hostess at the front door. “Can you get me a cab?”

  “No,” he said quickly. “I’ll drive you home. I know where the studio put you up.”

  “That isn’t—”

  “I’ll be driving. Paying attention to the road. Hands at ten and two.” Mick’s gut unclenched a little when a slight smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “All my body parts will stay on my side of the car.” He held his fingers up in a salute.

  “That’s the Girl Scout salute. Idiot.”

  Mick was relieved to see the Piper who didn’t put up with any of his crap was back. He liked her. “I never said I was a Boy Scout.”

  “I bet you’re always prepared, anyway.”

  “Seriously, I’d like to drive you home.”

  She nibbled a lip. “It’s just that the paparazzi flock you like seagulls, and I don’t like the press.”

  He snorted. “No one does. But in Hollywood, they’re essential. Like plasma.”

  “Still…”

  “Don’t worry. This restaurant keeps them at bay. No one will see you with me if I drive you home. I promise.”

  “I mean,” she said, her voice going intense, “I really don’t like the press. Or being in the public’s eye.”

  He hadn’t missed the people taking their picture after the kiss ended, but he’d definitely forgotten the paparazzi who’d followed him to the restaurant when he was wrapped up in Piper. Hell, he’d spent a lifetime cultivating the press’s interest, so the only time he noticed the paparazzi was when they weren’t around.

  But if she didn’t like the public attention, he’d make sure she was well taken care of. “I can’t do anything about those people back in the restaurant with their camera phones, but I can say that I know how to dodge the paparazzi. No one will see us together.”

  “In that case…I accept.”

  Mick opened his mouth to reply, but the arrival of his car stopped all conversation between them and pretty much everyone else at the front of the restaurant. He got that a lot. The dark blue 1968 Shelby Cobra GT-350 convertible with the white racing stripe was a righteous car to behold. She was his prized possession, and he accepted the gawking graciously on her behalf.

  Piper’s brown eyes were wide, and she was speechless as he led her around to the passenger door and let her in. He quickly made his way to the driver’s side, tipped the valet, and eased into the driver’s seat just as she found her voice.

  “Mick. This is a beautiful car.” Piper cooed as she caressed the car, her hands roaming ove
r the restored leather seats.

  He tried not to think about how those hands would feel on his naked skin.

  “Thanks. Ali is my baby.” He revved the engine a little, loving the feel of her purring underneath and all around him. If he could marry his car, he might be tempted to take the plunge. “I bought her and my house with my first big paycheck.”

  “Why’d you name her Ali?”

  He glanced over and caught Piper watching him as he caressed his car, a bemused expression on her face. He considered making up a cooler sounding answer but opted for the truth. “Steve McQueen drove one like this, and he’s my idol. He had Ali McGraw, and so I have my Ali, as well.”

  “Good reason.” Piper settled back in the seat. “Is your house as dramatic as this car?”

  “It was, but I sold it. I do, however, have a vacation estate in Hawaii.”

  “That’s a tough commute.”

  “I have a housekeeper who takes care of it for me, and I get over a few times a year.” Mick buckled himself in and leaned over to check her belt as well. He’d had them retrofitted, but in the tight space it could get tricky to fasten them properly. The action required him to lean in close and touch the sexy curve of her hip. Her body was warm against the skin of his hands, her hair falling forward to glide against his cheek while the sweet scent of her perfume filled his lungs. Shit, he was in big trouble.

  The intimacy in dark, close quarters of the vehicle interior was dangerous. Mick was hyper aware of every sound, every scent, every move. The swoosh of the silky fabric of her skirt as she moved in her seat, the way her breasts rose and fell with her rapid breathing, the loud, frantic tattoo of his heartbeat in his ears.

  The river of arousal swirling between them was a powerful current, and suddenly he knew why so many people were caught in the undertow and ended up in the backseat in a sweaty tangle of arms and legs. When Piper looked up and brought her lips within kissing distance, he held his breath, inching closer to close the gap and drown in her once again.