“Fuck,” he whispered almost to himself, “you’re going to kill me, you know?” The way he sounded. So honest. Everything in me wanted to believe him, but I couldn’t let myself think it was possible.
“I’ll see you at the studio in two hours.” I needed to be smart and late night whispered phone calls were not smart!
“Grace?”
“Try to get some sleep.”
“Wait, shit, I don’t know what I said that—”
“You don’t have to do this,” I blurted out, Gloria’s words running rampant in my mind.
“Do what?”
“Pretend you’re interested to sweeten me up,” I shared, feeling frustrated and slightly stupid. There was no way possible a man like him would want me. I was curvy and plain.
“Grace, I have no—” he started to say, but I sat up in my bed.
“It’s kind of insulting,” I blurted out, but he didn’t respond. Why did I let Gloria influence my thoughts? And he was quiet now. He probably thinks you’re completely insane!
“Insulting?” he asked in a menacing tone.
“Yeah,” I answered, my lack of confidence obvious. With a deep breath, I started to try to clear things up, “I just think that I’d—”
“Get dressed. I’ll be there in thirty, probably twenty,” he snapped. I frowned.
“What?”
“Get dressed,” he repeated and sounded just as pissed as before.
“I heard you, but why? I’m meeting you at the—”
“Change of plans,” he growled before hanging up.
Chapter Nine
Marcus
He softly knocked on the door, noting extra cars parked in the drive and in front of Grace’s house. She had mentioned her sisters would be helping her with Lexi, so he assumed they were over and probably inside sleeping. He rubbed his hands together, not only for warmth but in nervousness. Why was he there?
He wanted to see her.
Needed to was more like it.
She opened the door slightly. Her big, dark eyes looked up at him, and for a moment he couldn’t breathe. Just like the first time he’d stood on her doorstep. Her eyes captured him. Entranced him. He wanted to be as smooth as any of the romantic leading men he’d portrayed in the past, all to charm her just as much.
“Why are you here?” she snapped as he took in her cute pink My Little Pony tee and dark denim jeans, which told him she was planning on going with him.
“Ready?” he asked, not bothering to answer her.
“What?” She scowled.
“Grab a sweater; it can get cold at the studio,” he suggested, and her hand fell from the door knob, lax at her side, while she looked at him. She was processing something deeply. He took a step forward, worrying she was about to send him away.
“Gracie, let’s go,” he coaxed gently, extending his hand to hers, his eyes still on her face. No longer looking at his face, she looked at his hand, and he watched her eyes rush back to his.
“No games,” she oddly stated. He tilted his head. “Promise me. Look, I'm not sure what's going on…”
“Grac—”
“Just, please, let me talk.” He nodded, and she took a deep breath. “Let's keep the book stuff separate from whatever this,” she pointed between them, “is. Don't play me. Don't try. Please. I don’t want to confuse the two things, and being around you...”
“Makes things unclear?” he asked, and she nodded. “Have you considered that maybe I feel the same way?”
“Not really, no.” His lips twitched at her refreshing honesty.
“Fair enough, but just so you know, I feel it too,” he shared. He wanted to touch her, was dying to feel her skin under his fingertips, but he didn’t dare.
“Right,” she whispered. He was surprised she didn't roll her eyes. He wasn’t sure if she believed him, and if he were a betting man, he’d bet she didn’t.
“I do. I am going to tell you this right now, because you have to be clear about this. I have never felt about anyone the way I feel about you.” He had no clue what made him think it was possibly okay to admit that, but he knew in his gut he had to. He didn’t want her to question it.
“We've only known one another—”
“I know.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I know, but you aren't far from my thoughts when I’m away from you; and it isn't the book.”
“You sure? Because—”
“It's you. And your dark chocolate eyes. And your damn lips.”
“My lips?” she asked, touching said lips, and all he could think about was how fucking cute she was.
“They're perfect.” His eyes roamed them. “They’re full and plush. And the prettiest shade of dusty pink.” Shaking his head, he looked into her eyes. “And your hair and whatever damn shampoo you use that smells like strawberries and coconut mixed up.”
She pressed her lips together, put a finger up, and said, “Give me a sec,” before she left him standing at the door.
After a minute, she returned, wearing a sweater. The warmth of her hand met his, and utter calm and a burning desire hit him.
All from just holding her fucking hand.
***
He took her to breakfast, where she told him about her sisters being there and helping watch her daughter. He held her hand the entire time. Now she was on her phone as he sat at the mercy of his lovely make-up artist and friend Luna Garcia.
“Want to know what the million-dollar question everyone on set is asking?”
“What’s that?” He feigned ignorance.
“Don’t be obtuse. It doesn’t suit you.”
“Obtuse? Was that the word of the day on your calendar?” Luna shook her head, but was like a dog after a bone. “Who’s the girl?”
“A friend,” he answered, and she raised an eyebrow at him. He sighed. “She's a writer. Don and I want to make one of her books into a movie.”
“Really?” Surprise was clear on Luna’s young face. “Oh, Marc, that is great. And if you need make-up and someone for designs and costumes...”
“I wouldn’t go anywhere else, you know that.” He smiled.
Luna had been one of the first people he'd met in Hollywood. How she worked in the movies she did was beyond him, especially with how young she was. But she worked hard, and the right people thankfully took notice.
“You ready for the scene today?” Luna asked, her hazel eyes on him, knowing him all too well after working together on so many movies.
“Yeah.” He had a water stunt to do today. After an accident he’d suffered early on in his career, water stunts made him nervous, and she knew that.
“It will be okay.”
“I know,” he murmured, his eyes straying to Grace.
“You look calm,” Luna noted. His eyes were still on Grace. She had styled her long, dark hair into a French braid, letting him see her face clearly.
“I am,” he admitted. There was something about being close to Grace that was comforting to his soul.
“Interesting,” she murmured.
“Why is that?”
“Water stunts freak you out, Marcus. Maybe your friend has something to do with how Zen you seem.” She winked at him in the mirror before dusting his face with some shit then sending him on his way.
The entire time he walked toward the director, he wasn't thinking about the water, or the stunt, or the million things that could go wrong like he usually did. He wasn’t fucking nervous either.
Grace was the only thing he was thinking about, and how interesting she'd made his life in just a couple of days.
Chapter Ten
Grace
Sitting to the side of the set, there were a million other things I should be doing. I had my laptop out, but it was shut closed. I couldn’t keep my eyes off of him. After a water stunt where he had to jump into what would look like the ocean on the movie screen but was a huge pool in the studio, he'd come over to me and kissed me.
In front of everyone.
No one blinked twice.
Only the cute make-up artist had a huge smile as she redid his make-up. I was surprised that he hadn’t taken a break after doing what looked like a dangerous stunt six times. After a touch-up of his make-up and a costume change, he went on to do a new scene. I watched as he tirelessly did the same scene over and over. Never uttering a complaint or asking for a break or special treatment. Always offering a smile to everyone on set. He was the definition of professional and hardworking.
Despite running on no sleep, I was wide awake. The whole thing fascinated me. Then something about watching the entire process behind the scenes sparked an idea about what it would be like to see Beyond the Stars come to life. Grabbing one of the extra screenplays left lying around, I looked at it, opened up my laptop to a blank screen, and got lost in an idea.
***
“Hey.” A deep voice snapped me out of my furious typing, and I looked up into his beautiful eyes. Wow was all my putty-like mind could come up with.
“Hey.” I closed my laptop and smiled at him.
“Did you get bored?” he asked, looking over his shoulder, and I smiled.
“No.”
“You sure? You’ve been typing for the last three hours.”
“Three hours?”
“Yeah.”
“Wow. No. I was inspired and had to write.” I could feel the warm burn of embarrassment flare up over my cheeks.
“Good.” He smiled, and with one word an odd familiarity fell over us as he leaned in and took my lips.
“Marc,” I whispered against his lips, and he groaned.
“I had to.”
“Had to what?” My eyes were still closed, a smile playing on my lips.
“Kiss you.”
“I like it when you kiss me,” I stupidly admitted right before I felt the tip of his tongue swipe my lower lip. I instinctively opened for him, and his tongue swept in. He tasted of mint, but before the kiss ignited further and I completely lost my mind, he pulled away. I missed his lips instantly. I opened my eyes slowly. His heated gaze stared back at me.
“You’re dangerous,” he whispered lowly.
“I doubt that.” I giggled like a silly school girl. He grinned back.
“Come on. Let’s get something to eat.”
“Okay.” I took his hand and noticed how he looked at our connected hands. Something played in his eyes.
When his eyes met mine, I saw him.
Not the Hollywood actor or cover model, but the man. In that moment, whatever was going on between us left me feeling reawakened, hopeful but worried Gloria was right about being in over my head.
We walked to his trailer side by side, and part of me wanted to suggest to go somewhere else. But another part of me, the bigger part, wanted to be alone with him so much that my body burned up with the thought of it. He opened the door, and I stepped in.
“Wow, this is more spacious than it looks from the outside.”
“Everyone says that,” he commented, while I looked around and fought the urge to ask if he usually brought women here. Instead, I took in the space.
There was a dark, plush sofa along one wall, a small grey table and two white chairs, and a kitchen. “It even has a kitchen,” I remarked.
“Yeah, these things come fully loaded. This one even has a washer and dryer”
“It does?”
“Yep.”
“Do you need a washer and dryer?”
“No.”
“Have you ever used it?”
“Nope.” He smiled at me, and I felt a warmth rush through me.
“Huh.”
He opened the fridge, and I admired his broad shoulders and great ass. “So, what sounds good to eat?”
“You’re cooking?” I asked, not able to hide the surprise in my voice.
“Yeah.” He smiled shyly. “I mean, I can order something, or we can go eat at—”
“No. I just didn’t think you knew how,” I blurted accidently. He started to laugh, the sound filling the trailer, and it was a great one. Deep and whole-hearted.
“Nothing fancy, Grace. Not here at least. I only have staples here like stuff for sandwiches, stir-fries, stuff like that.”
“I’m good with a sandwich,” I shyly answered, adding, “Your friend Luna brought me snacks from the catering table while you were shooting.”
“Good. I’m glad.” He was still looking at me. I felt the need to apologize.
“I didn’t mean to assume—”
“I get it.” He shrugged before turning around. I watched as he started to pull things out of the fridge and walked to him, placing a flat hand on his back, surprised by the feel of him. Not just the strength of the muscled, warm body beneath his clothes but the electric zing that ran through me at the connection. His body stilled while he held a loaf of bread in his hand.
“Let me. You worked hard,” I offered. He surprised me when he turned. My hand was now on his chest, and I wasn’t sure whose heart was beating harder. Mine or his.
“You should sit.” His rough voice with the hungry yet torn look in his eyes made me want to stay right where I was.
“Why?”
“Because,” his jaw twitched, “all I’ve been thinking about is getting you alone and touching you again.” God, that sounded good. I wanted him to touch me. Instead of taking his words as a warning, my body took it as a dare, and I moved my other hand over his other pec.
“Your chest feels like it’s made of granite,” I whispered as I watched my tan hands on his cotton-covered chest. It wasn’t the smoothest line, but I wasn’t a smooth talker, and all I could do was be myself through whatever this thing that was going on between us.
“Grace.” A clear warning this time.
“It’s true.”
“Sweetness, I’m trying to be good here.” His voice was clearly strained. I pressed my front closer, the only thought in my lust-clouded mind that I didn’t want him to be good.
“What if…”
“What?”
“What if I don’t want you to be good?” I brazenly and very unlike me asked and watched, fascinated with how he closed his eyes tightly, his nostrils flaring.
“Go sit, Gracie,” he hoarsely ordered, and disappointment hit deep. I didn’t try to mask it. I couldn’t.
I took a step back, then another before turning and walking to sit on the couch. I had just come on to him and he’d turned me down. Was he over whatever the hell we had both been feeling? God, I was an idiot.
“Grace?”
“Hmm?” My eyes were on my jeans, picking at imaginary lint so that I wouldn’t have to look at him.
“I want you to be able to trust me.” I looked up.
His back was to me as he stood in front of the counter, the tension of holding himself still obvious. “Did you hear me?”
I cleared my throat. “Trust you with the book?”
“I want you to trust me with everything.” His deep voice was raspy as he turned to look at me over his shoulder. Heat and honesty stared back at me. It was so overwhelming I had to break the gaze. I stood and looked at the pictures on the walls.
“Are these your brothers?” I asked over my shoulder, staring at a picture of three younger men together, Marcus in the center.
“Yeah.”
“Which one is your Turtle?” I asked, and he chuckled, the mood lightening up slightly between us.
“That would be Bryan. Funny but quiet. Always observing shit.”
“He’s the youngest?”
“Yeah.”
“Where do you fall in line? Oldest? Middle?”
“Middle. Garrett, the tall GI Joe-looking asshole, is the oldest by two years, then me, Don is two months younger than me, and then Bryan.”
“You guys are close,” I guessed, looking in his direction. He took the plates to the table. I walked over to the counter to get the glasses, but he took them from me, placing them gently on the table before pulling a chair out for me like he had done the day before at the pool.
“Th
ank you,” I said softly, noting how good he smelled behind me. Sitting down, he took me by surprise when he leaned down, his mouth at my ear, the sensation making me shiver.
“Being good around you is really difficult.” Breathing was almost impossible when he was that close.
“It’s just me, though,” I whispered, again without thinking, and I felt his lips softly nip the bottom of lobe.
“It’s because it’s you.” He moved, kissing my temple before sitting on his chair.
I looked at him across the small table and smiled, wondering if he was being real or playing some kind of game.
Chapter Eleven
Marcus
He didn’t know how the hell he had kept his hands off of her, but he had.
He was being honest with her when he told her it was difficult being good around her. All he wanted to do was touch, and explore, and watch her come. The sounds she’d made, the way she had felt around his fingers, and her scent in that elevator ride had been on replay in his mind.
When he was able to stop those, a million new fantasies roamed in. All the things he wanted to do with her in his trailer running rampant.
“You, uhh…” Clearing his throat, he looked at her, enjoying the soft look. “You said inspiration hit?”
“Oh. Yeah.” She blushed. “It’s just an idea I am toying with. That stunt this morning looked intense,” she commented before taking a bite out of her sandwich.
“It was.”
“And you did it time after time.”
“Just my job.” He shrugged. It had also been the first time he had been able to do a water stunt without his fear overwhelming him.
“Do you ever get nervous?”
“All the time,” he admitted and smiled. “Stunts are tough, but everyone works hard to make sure we are safe on set.” And that was the truth.
“Do things ever go wrong?”
“Sometimes.”
“Have they ever gone wrong for you?”
“Grace…”
“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it,” she quickly responded, standing and taking their empty plates to the sink. He followed her. He didn’t think. He just reacted. He needed her to know, and in following he didn’t realize his mistake until it was too late.
LIE (Right Men Book 1) Page 7