Last Time We Kissed_A Second Chance Romance

by Nicole Snow

Her legs open, ever so slightly. Better for me to lean into her. I put my fist in her hair, tipping her gently against the glass banister, passion dripping from my eyes into hers. “Congratulations. You've passed the first test. I want an obedient secretary, not a stupid one.”

  Remembering the script, I get closer.

  Our lips are only inches apart when I pull away. I let go in a quick jerk, allowing her to stand. Taking several strides back toward the door, I wait for her voice before I stop near the entrance.

  “Test? Um, I don't understand, sir. Forgive me, but...” She pauses, doing a slow blink before opening her eyes. “Are you really some kind of fucking maniac?”

  “Yeah, that's how it is in this business,” I say, straightening my tie as I turn around. “And if you play your cards right, I'll be the best boss you've ever had.”

  One more second. Our eyes stay connected across the ten foot gap between us like magnets. Their energy pulls and pulls, but never collides.

  “Cut!” Pierce's booming voice rings out over the speakers. “Marvelous job, you two. Let's take a break before we get a few more angles.”

  The cameras are off. I'm stuck waiting. I imagine she'll do a dozen things when she walks up and talks to me as Robbi, instead of Ali, for the first time in our five years apart.

  Will she be cruel, or magnanimous? Excitement surges through my veins. I'm left wondering if I'll get her hot little hand crashing across my cheek, or just some muddled words about putting it all behind us breathed into my ear.

  I listen to her tall black heels hit the floor. She isn't even looking at me as she stomps past, quick and deliberate.

  What the fuck? Before I know what I'm doing, I've got my arm out, raised in a gesture meant to stop her.

  But she's already gone, passing through the makeshift office, back through the cameras and the lights that will be our constant companions for the next few months.

  Robin Plomb just snubbed me.

  Forget Miles' line about playing her cards right. There are no rules here, and I don't even know what game she's playing.

  If we're going to survive the next six to eight months together, I'd better learn fast.

  “Seriously, Lucus, what the hell was that?” My motor mouthed agent, Jim Golder, looks like he's about to throw the cup of water he's holding in my face.

  We're back stage, taking a breather, just like the director said. “What?” I say coolly, pretending I don't know.

  “Uh, our Ali, Miles. I haven't seen passion like that since...ever. If I didn't know better, I'd swear you've been inside her last week.” He pauses, wiping sweat from his brow, knocking down his water in one gulp. “Come on, man. I've seen you in those low budget romantic comedies before. You never connected with any of the girls like her. What gives?”

  “History,” I tell him, looking up as I dust off my sleeve. “Don't worry, it won't affect the role. Everybody thought we looked good today, didn't they?”

  He hesitates. “Well, yeah. But damn, my man, if you keep looking at her like that, I think you two had better hash it out over a glass of wine or something. These things have a way of exploding and ruining everything. Only a matter of time before the tension makes things awkward on the set. They're going to want sex scenes soon!”

  Shit. Like he has to remind me. My cock comes alive through my frustration, remembering its one night taste of the woman I wanted to marry in another lifetime.

  “I'll handle it. You handle your business, Jim.”

  He stops, pivots away from me in his polished shoes, and throws his hands up. “Touch-y! Okay, Casanova, I'll trust your better judgment. But I'm telling you, if I start seeing a wet blanket on the flame you're supposed to have on screen, we've got problems.”

  He's out, leaving me alone. I have another half hour before the filming resumes. Just enough time to reach into the nearest drawer, pull out the bottle of scotch I've stashed inside for the tough moments, and take a big swig. I drink from the neck like it's a canteen.

  No, I'm not like dad. I don't need it to medicate.

  It's there to sand the edge off. I'm hoping it'll keep old emotions in check when the memories hit.

  Today, they're merciless. The worst one comes just as the booze hits my stomach and melts into the fireball.

  Our last phone call, five years ago, just days after she blew Chicagoland forever. I'd been dialing her furiously for days. It always went to voicemail, until one day I heard her frigid, hateful voice on the line.

  “Stop calling or I'm going to figure out how to block your number.”

  “Hello to you, too, beautiful.” Dead silence on the other end. No laughter, no derision, no reaction whatsoever. “Can we talk about this? I realize I fucked up, Robbi. I should've told you about our parents sooner. I took matters into my own hands, trying to protect you, and I'm sorry.”

  “Drop the martyr act, Lucus. Mom told me what he did to her. Every fucking detail. She was weak, yeah, and maybe she should've went to the police. But he's a monster.”

  “It's what he does,” I growl, frustration pulling my teeth into my cheek so hard I taste blood. “I can't help it. I can't control him. Dad's a reckless, womanizing, drunken piece of shit. He's always been the same, and it hasn't gotten any better with age. I can't apologize for his mistakes.”

  “No? So, it's business-as-usual then? Wow. You're right about one thing: there's no apology for doing nothing while a vulnerable woman got blackmailed into sleeping with him.”

  Vulnerable? Blackmailed? What the fuck is she getting at?

  “I'm not following,” I say, leaning against the wall with one hand. “She wanted to be with him, Robbi. When I found out, I heard them laughing. Heard them all over each other. Whispering the nasty, lovey shit I don't even want to remember. My old man's an idiot who left his morals behind twenty years ago, but it takes two to tango.”

  “Tango?” Her voice hisses over the line. “Mom told me he threatened her! Threatened her job and then swore he'd tell dad, too, if she didn't keep what they were doing under wraps. She said you'd side with him, as soon as I told you the truth.”

  Rage tears through my head. I don't know what to believe.

  What she's telling me is, it wasn't an ordinary affair. If it's true, there are only two possibilities. Either my old man's even more twisted than my brothers and I think, or her mother's a bigger liar than her drunken father insisted in his last screams, before the paramedics hauled him away.

  “I'm on our side, babe. Nobody else's.”

  “We don't have a side, Luke. Not anymore. I can't be with a man who dismisses what that freak did to my mother as 'tango.' You think she's lying to me. Covering up affairs she never had, at least not with her own free will.”

  Whoa. Fuck.

  “Robbi...slow down. I'm not ruling out anything when it comes to him. He's broken hearts before and stayed the fuck out of my life except when he wants to talk business. Still, you've got to admit, this doesn't add up.”

  “What doesn't? Enlighten me!” She's breathing hard, on the verge of a full panic breakdown.

  “Where's your dad in all this? He came crashing in that day everything went to hell. Screaming, drunk, crazy, but certain she'd screwed him over. If my old man did what you just said, don't you think she'd have told him?”

  She's quiet while several heavy seconds tick by. “You can't trust a word he says. He's in rehab, for Christ's sake. Long road to recovery, if he ever gets there at all. He did it to himself, Luke. If he hadn't been so miserable and selfish, and ran from our family's problems to the bar, he would've realized what was happening sooner. He would've protected her.”

  She's in denial. There's a hideous realization setting in, so deep and sad I feel it in my bones like creeping ice.

  I'll never reach her, even if I can find out the truth, and prove it. Nothing will overturn her mother's lies.

  Whatever my father did, it's blown a hole in her life so wide it might be mortal. It certainly will be if I stay with her, keep
her boiling in this fucked up drama, taint her with neurotic bullshit that's synonymous with the name Shaw.

  “I can't help you with this,” I say, my voice like a whisper. “Have a nice life.”

  “Wait!” I'm about to hang up when I hear her voice, desperate and shrill. “Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait! Luke...that's it? You're telling me I'm wrong, and you're fucking giving up?”

  Bingo.

  This is how it has to be, I tell myself. Anything else is so damned complicated I don't know where to begin. I just know any more mistakes in the web of complexity will strangle her alive.

  She deserves better than this. Better than my fucked up family. Better than me.

  “You said it yourself – how can you trust me after this?”

  “You're right. I can't.” I hear her sniffle. Half a choked off sob leaks out before she kills the call.

  If the hangar wall I'm leaning on wasn't made with solid steel, I'd break my hand punching through it.

  “Mr. Shaw? Fifteen minutes!” A production aide knocks on my door.

  I'm back in the present, fresh salt rubbing old wounds raw.

  “Be right out.” I sigh, standing up, fixing my suit.

  It's the same kind of tacky penguin outfit Hayden and Grant love wearing all the time. It's never fit me. I feel naked without my jeans and bombardier jacket, but at least wearing this thing reminds me I'm supposed to be someone else.

  On this set, I'm Miles Black. He's a very lucky billionaire bastard because he never loved and lost.

  She's ice, but we sizzle. We do virtually the same scene from a few more angles, taking the entire afternoon. On our fourth take, Pierce calls it quits, walking onto the stage once the cameras are done.

  “Hold up, love birds,” he says in his booming voice, before Robbi scatters from my embrace. “We have a very special guest with us this evening. I'd like to introduce –“

  “My dears! You've brought my lovelies to life, and I'm so, so grateful.” A strange, short woman with frizzy red hair going everywhere walks up, throws her arms around me, and beams through thick spectacles.

  Next thing I know, her lips are on my neck, pecking at my throat again and again. She drops me just as quick, walks over to Robbi, and does the same thing.

  There's no mistaking her.

  “Ms. Frieze, it's a pleasure,” I say, tucking my hands back into my pockets. A handshake won't really do after that introduction.

  The author beams. “I'm delighted to meet you, too, Miles. You know I'll be calling you Miles from now on, okay?” She smiles like it's the most natural thing in the world.

  I learned a long time ago to smile right back at creative insanity. “Whatever you'd like.”

  Pierce clears his throat, steps between us, and puts his hand around the woman's shoulder. The genius behind Bare stares at us like a dieter spending their cheat day in a candy shop. “I hate to put you two out since it's only our first day, but I'd like you to head down the hallway for a quick promo shoot with marketing. The studio wants to get going on posters, teasers, and all that good stuff right away. We'd also like to give Ms. Frieze something to go home with since she's graced us with her presence today.”

  “There's nothing more graceful than watching art come alive,” she says, never taking her eyes off me and Robbi.

  Not at all creepy or crazy, I lie. Eccentric. That's what they always say about the artistic types, right?

  “Of course,” Robbi says, dipping her head in a small bow. “How do you need us?”

  “Standing next to the hot tub we've got set up down there,” Pierce says. “A lot more naked, if you don't mind. This one's hitting social media first, and it needs to be hot.”

  My eyes flick to her. Finally, I see something I recognize. A slow, burning shade of red lights her cheeks, and it lingers, even as she smiles at the director and the world famous author.

  “Let me go with you, Robbi,” I say, lifting my arm to take hers.

  She pulls back, careful to catch herself before she creates an obvious scene. Her eyes leave no doubt about what she's trying to say. What the fuck are you doing? Back off.

  “Thanks, but I have to powder my nose first. I'll meet you there.” She turns, walks past me, and never looks back.

  Angry as I am, I can't help watch her ass bobbing as she moves down the hall, slipping into the restroom that's closest to the secondary set where we'll be doing our promo shoot.

  I had that ass, once. How many times have I thought about owning it again over the years? Must number in the tens of thousands.

  Part of me is going to enjoy this, having her plump cheeks in my palms again. Maybe a very big part of me. The other part wonders if I'll die of frustration first.

  Only one way to find out.

  5

  Accidentally Again (Robin)

  There's no avoiding it. I'm going to be getting naked for him again, after I swore I'd never give Lucus Shaw another morsel of my heart, much less my body.

  Too fucking bad. The rest of the world doesn't care.

  It also couldn't care less that I'm holed up in the restroom, watching my own bewildered eyes in the mirror, trying not to stamp my heels and scream.

  No, keep it together. I can't afford to do less. I have to take this thing scene-by-scene, day-by-day, one hateful glance at a time.

  As soon as I'm finished washing up, I dry my face, and tell myself I'll forget his lies the instant I've left this bathroom.

  It doesn't work.

  I head into my changing room, slip out of my clothes, and into the thick burgundy robe they've provided. It's just business, I remind myself, as if it's possible to forget the intense, sexual tension that's about to cut my patience to the bone.

  The tragedy five years ago is all I can think about when we're face-to-face again. Or skin-on-skin, I should say.

  Luke just has to be shirtless. He's gotten a head start disrobing according to the photographer's instructions.

  He's standing next to the hot tub with the carefully placed glasses and the overflowing champagne bottle, watching my eyes pop when I see his perfectly sculpted labyrinth of muscle and ink. I haven't lost myself in it since the night I lost my virginity and the morning I lost everything else.

  His smirk freezes me when I stop at the edge of the set, one hand poised on my silk belt. I close my eyes as I pull, letting it drop, knowing his eyes are on me every agonizing second.

  “Looking good,” the photographer says. “Now, if you'd like to embrace your lady, Mr. Black, we'll keep this short and sweet.”

  When I open my eyes again, he's staring through me. Somehow, I find the courage to move my feet, heading toward him, into his sultry embrace.

  My skin sizzles where his fingers touch. It's a struggle holding my eyes open, keeping them on him. I'm so conflicted and ashamed I wonder if any amount of money is worth this.

  Whatever happened in our five years apart, my body hasn't forgotten his touch. Familiar electricity runs through his fingertips into me. Every nerve crackles, blisters, sings as his fingers dig into my skin, firmly but gently. My breath becomes shallower. I focus on the black pools in the middle of his gem blue eyes, the ones that betrayed me so many years ago.

  “Beautiful, just beautiful, you two,” the photographer says again, more clicks and flashes going off like bombs around us. “Robin, I'd like you topless for the next shot, if you don't mind.”

  I do mind, prick. I mind a whole hell of a lot, but there's no way around it without raising a career sinking fuss. I hesitate, my hands going behind me, stopping on my bra's clasp.

  Once it goes, there's nothing between us except my black panties, now becoming painfully wet between my thighs.

  Luke's hand glides gently down my back, stopping just short of my ass. He lifts an eyebrow. “Think of me as Mr. Black, Ali. No hard feelings,” he whispers.

  Easy for him to say. Even easier to hide the hard-on pulling at his trunks. I catch the faintest glimpse of the bulge threatening to peak out of his
waistband when I look down, popping my bra off.

  More cameras explode all around us. Luke wraps his arms around me and pulls me close, just enough to hide my bare breasts against his chest, exactly like the photographer wants.

  I tip my head back, trying to look like we're in the throes of passion. It's actually a small relief to put distance between our faces. My nipples graze his hard muscle. They're hard as diamonds.

  The asshole has to be enjoying this. I take quick, tentative glances at his eyes, searching for the boy who used to torture me and love it. Amazingly, I only see a man doing his job, no different than a model posing for a junior art class.

  I'm not sure why that's so infuriating. How can he go through the motions, without even being hot and bothered?

  “Marvelous!” A woman's voice rings out behind us. It's Frieze again, here to enjoy the show. She's carrying on a quiet conversation with Pierce next to her. “Oh, Photographer Man, can you get them to do the pose we talked about? The one where their lips are oh-so-yummy-close? My fans simply adore those.”

  We stop. Luke and I both look at the photographer, who twists his lips sourly, before he relents with a smile. “You heard the good lady. Let's see the pose, even if it ain't great for marketing.”

  Luke's hands clench my back tighter this time. Goosebumps rise on my skin, circling his fingertips, peppering their way down my spine. I whip my head forward, staring into his eyes, watching his face move closer to mine.

  Jesus. I can't breathe.

  He bends me in his arms, tips me over the edge of the hot tub. His lips are coming, so close their heat burns on mine, without even touching.

  “Hold,” he whispers, closing his eyelids.

  Mine flutter open again. There's no more than the faintest gap between our lips. Every sense I have dies in a cloud of smoke.

  Hot, forbidden memories flood my veins like slow moving lava. I still want him, damn it. Rather, my body has no solidarity with my heart. It's happy to go tense, steamy, and wet when I'm locked in his embrace, a prisoner to the past and my own very present desires.