Rough Cut

by Mari Carr

  “Gwen, I know this may sound strange, but I feel as if I know you, even though our acquaintance has only been through email and phone conversations.”

  She smiled and nodded. “I feel the same way but, Ty, I’m going to tell you right now, I’m not some movie star groupie and I don’t want to be surrounded by orgies or whatever other depraved things you may do in your house.”

  He smiled, flashing his million-dollar dimples at her. “I’ll reschedule all my orgies until after you leave.”

  She fought back a smile at his joke. “I mean it. If we’re going to work together, I insist that we keep things professional.”

  He forced his head to nod in accord, even though his body was reading him the riot act for agreeing to such a thing. He had absolutely no intention of maintaining a professional distance from her. Something about her called to him and he would be damned if he denied himself a taste of her sweetness.

  He decided he really did owe her a decent explanation for Bambi. He prayed his words would set her mind at ease about him as a person.

  “I hired Bambi this morning as a temporary replacement for my personal assistant. Apparently she thought a blowjob would make me inclined to hire her for a role in one of my upcoming movies. I know what it must have looked like to you, but I was pushing her away when you got into the limo.”

  She looked over at him and he could tell by the look in her eyes that she believed him. A genuine smile crossed her face and he was amazed by the transformation as she burst into peals of laughter. He reconsidered his previous thought—she was beautiful.

  “You poor man,” she said between gasps. “You must have been terrified.”

  He let her have fun at his expense, relieved to see she wasn’t still thinking of him as a male chauvinist pig. He soaked in the sound of her laughter and grinned.

  “Well, there’s some good news for you,” she teased. “If we actually write this script, you have your leading lady all lined up and ready to go.”

  “Hell will freeze over before Bambi Starr lands a part in any movie I make.”

  Mention of Bambi’s full name sent her into fits of laughter again. “Gee, I wonder if that’s her given name.”

  The car pulled into the driveway of his house and her giggles ended on a sharp intake of breath.

  “Oh my God,” she whispered.

  He was used to seeing people’s expressions when they pulled up to his mansion. It was decadent in the extreme and he thought perhaps he should feel guilty for the ungodly amount of money he’d pumped into the house. Some small insecure part of him had never gotten over the feeling of growing up in a tiny one-room apartment, constantly worrying about the bills and where the next meal was coming from. He was determined he’d never let welfare checks feed him again, nor would he sleep in a cold, drafty room wishing for the slightest bit of warmth. His greatest regret in life was that his mother hadn’t lived long enough for him to set her up in a mansion of her own. She’d struggled throughout his entire childhood to care for him alone and he’d never had the opportunity to reward her as he’d wanted to for her unending love and care.

  “Holy shit,” she murmured. “Your house is as big as a hotel.”

  “So now you see why I insist that you stay here. We could wander around for weeks and never run into each other.”

  She shook her head, still smiling. “You’re right about that.”

  “Will you promise to give some serious thought to this project? I really do believe your book will make an amazing film.”

  “My agent mentioned yesterday that the publisher wants to sell the story rights to you, so it will be a movie whether I want it or not. I have to admit I was a bit miffed at the publisher’s secrecy about which book you wanted to use.”

  “The secrecy is my fault. One of the conditions of the contract was that I would reveal the title of the book to you. Another was that you agree to co-write the screenplay or the offer will be rescinded.”

  She paused and he sensed he surprised her with his words. “So if I say no?”

  “The movie won’t be made.”

  “I suppose your lawyer has contracts drawn up?”

  His heart leapt at her question. “Absolutely.”

  “Give them to me. I’ll take a look at them and then fax them to my agent. I’m not saying that’s a definite yes, but since I’ve come all this way, I guess I should at least take a peek at what’s in it for me.”

  He laughed at her mercenary jest. She was a woman after his own heart. Perhaps the day hadn’t turned out so badly after all.

  “Come on. Let’s get you settled in the guest house and then we can have some lunch out on the terrace. We’ll talk about the script.”

  Chapter Two

  Building the conflict

  She felt a hand on her shoulder and opened her eyes. A scream crossed her lips at the sight of a man looming over her bed.

  “Shhh.” Ty placed a hand across her mouth to quiet her. “It’s me.”

  “Dammit, Ty.” She pulled his hand away and sat up. “You scared the shit out of me.”

  He grinned and she felt her anger building. “How did you get in here?”

  He shrugged. “It’s my guest house.”

  “So?”

  “So I have a key.”

  “Ty. You can’t just waltz in here. While I’m staying with you, this is my room.”

  “Who says?”

  “I say. You’re invading my privacy.” For three days, she’d tried to accustom herself to Ty’s tendency to occupy not only his space, but hers as well. She wasn’t used to a man showering her with so much attention, so much care. He was charming and courteous, but beneath all of that, she sensed a darker, more brooding part. A part that made her feel possessed and hot and needy in ways she couldn’t begin to understand or explain to herself.

  He sat on the edge of the bed and she fought to calm her racing heart at his close proximity.

  “It’s my house. I can do whatever I want,” he insisted.

  “Then I’m leaving. I’ll get a hotel room.”

  The look in his eyes made her tremble slightly. With just one glance, he dared her to try, while letting her know in no uncertain terms she’d never succeed.

  He shook his head and his eyes wandered down her body. She looked down and gasped when she realized the sheet was pooled around her waist and she was flashing him—big time. She scrambled to pull the sheet up, only to discover Ty was sitting on it.

  “Move,” she demanded.

  “You’re very beautiful, Gwen. You shouldn’t hide that.”

  “Are you drunk?”

  “No.” He laughed before leaning closer, and she fought to catch her breath. “You sleep nude. I like that.”

  She continued tugging at the covers until he gave in and stood. She pulled the sheet over her breasts, fighting to retain her anger. Ty had a way of getting under her skin in ways she couldn’t understand.

  “Promise you won’t come in again without knocking.”

  “No.” He claimed the chair by her bed. “I missed you.”

  “What?”

  “I missed you at dinner. I wanted to talk to you.”

  He’d been out all afternoon and evening at some charity benefit. She’d eaten dinner alone. “Talk to me about what?”

  He’d proceeded to tell her about his evening and she hadn’t slept in the nude since that night. Since then, Ty had gotten into the habit of coming into her room during the darkest hours of night and they’d fallen into a strange nighttime routine. He’d sit in the chair by her bed and they’d talk for hours before he’d retire back to the main house and his own room.

  Gwen rolled over and punched the pillow, trying to find a comfortable sleep position and wondering what the hell she’d gotten herself into. Moving into the guest house of Look magazine’s Hottest Man Alive was not one of the brightest things she’d ever done. For one thing, Ty was filthy rich. He had a butler, two maids, a chef, a chauffeur, a personal assistant and at leas
t a dozen other people in his entourage, doing God only knew what. The constant swirl of people surrounding him made her head spin, and she wondered how Ty could stand it.

  She’d read the contract and given her verbal agreement to co-write the movie script for Evening Songs. She was leaving the legal hassles up to the lawyers, agents, and her publisher to sort out. She would be returning to New York tomorrow for two weeks so that she could tie up loose ends at home and pack up enough clothing for a two-month stay, which is how long Ty estimated it would take them to write the script given his busy schedule. As an author, she had the luxury of uprooting herself from her New York apartment since she could do her writing anywhere. Have laptop, will travel.

  She’d been in town eight restful, perfect days, hanging out by his pool, sight-seeing, eating in fancy restaurants. He was an amazingly attentive host when his schedule permitted, though he hadn’t lied about the fact that his day-to-day routine was hectic, to say the least. Most nights she read or wrote in the charming guest house while he walked the red carpets and attended more meetings than the president.

  Around one a.m., Ty slipped into her room. “How come you’re sleeping in pajamas?”

  She grinned at his question, no longer alarmed by his sudden appearances in her room. “Gee, I wonder if it has anything to do with these late-night visits.”

  “I think I should set the record straight and let you know that I most definitely was not offended by your nudity. Quite the opposite actually.”

  “My pajamas are staying on,” she answered. “I hope when it comes time to start writing our script, you will bear in mind that I’m a morning person. I can’t think at night. Every book I’ve written was put down on the pages between the hours of six a.m. and noon. After that, I’m cooked.”

  Ty sat heavily in the padded armchair by her bed and leaned his head back. She could see the dark circles under his eyes even in the dim moonlight. “I’ll try to remember that, but I gotta warn you, my body’s clock is the complete opposite of yours. I don’t begin to fully function until early afternoon.”

  “Must have something to do with these late hours you insist on keeping. How was your movie premiere?”

  “Predictable,” he replied through a yawn.

  “How was your starlet?” He’d taken Jasmine Court, the hottest female property in Hollywood, for a stroll on the red carpet tonight. Gwen struggled to push back the nagging jealousy she’d felt when he’d told her who he was going out with. Regardless of her insistence that things remain platonic between them, her body seemed to constantly cry out for him. She wasn’t sure she’d ever felt so sexually attracted to a man before. Of course, she consoled herself with the realization that every woman in America was lusting after him as well. At least, in that regard, she was normal.

  “She’s a lesbian,” he said quietly.

  “Really?” She constantly struggled to figure out when he was kidding and when he wasn’t. Most of his comments were delivered so deadpan, she despaired of ever understanding his dry sense of humor.

  “I owed her manager a favor and he decided to collect. I managed to do my part for this twisted Hollywood society and kept up the appearance of their golden girl’s straight image for another night.”

  “I suppose I’ll get to read all about your torrid love affair tomorrow in the tabloids.”

  “Oh yeah and then next week, when her manager finds another hot stud to pretend to be in love with her, I’ll be jealous and heartbroken and every dark mood I have for months afterwards will be attributed to our nasty breakup. Christ, I’m sick of this shit.”

  She studied him as he lounged in the chair. Typically, their nighttime banter was playful, teasing in nature.

  Tonight, his head was thrown back against the headrest, his eyes were closed and his hands were clenched together tightly against his chest. Despite the weariness she could see in every part of his body, he seemed tense, even a bit angry.

  “So why not retire?”

  He chuckled, though the sound held no mirth and he opened his eyes to look at her. “I’m only forty.”

  She smiled. “And you have enough money to live in comfort ’til you’re two hundred and forty. So why keep doing it? Why keep up this ridiculous pace?”

  He shrugged and she knew by his gaze he wasn’t going to answer her question.

  “How old are you?” he asked.

  She recognized his question for what it was. After only a week together, she was well-aware of his tendency to change the subject if he didn’t like the current one.

  “Thirty-four.”

  “How come you never got married?”

  She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. His gaze had become too intense, too serious, and she’d felt for a moment as if she could drown in the depths of his deep blue eyes.

  “I’m not sure,” she said, once she’d regained her wits. “I suppose you’ve noticed that, unlike you, I’m a bit of an introvert. I’m one of those lucky few who found success as an author fairly young, but writing isn’t one of those careers that leads to meeting a lot of people. I spend a great deal of time in my house alone with my laptop.”

  “You don’t date at all?”

  “Oh sure. I’ve dated plenty, but I’ve noticed since I turned thirty that the pool of available men has dwindled and unfortunately, most of what’s left is the duds who’ve been thrown back.”

  “Gee thanks.” She giggled at his response.

  “Present company excluded, of course.” She looked over at him.

  He rubbed his eyes and she felt her heart stirring at his vulnerability. For all his money and fame, she saw a tired, weary man, and before she could think about it, she reached out toward him with her hand. “Come here.”

  He glanced up in surprise, then took her hand. She tugged until he rose, directing him toward her with a pull. “Crawl in.”

  She scooted over and watched as he lay down beside her.

  “You’re inviting me to your bed?”

  “To sleep,” she clarified. “I have a feeling you’re too tired to make the trek back across the lawn to your own bed or to be much use for anything else.” He grinned at her taunt, no doubt willing to prove her words false, but she put up her hand. “Just the same, stay on your side of the bed, Hollywood.”

  He smiled tiredly at the nickname and his eyes drifted shut slowly. “Good night, gorgeous,” he whispered, seconds before she heard his breath steady and deepen with sleep.

  He truly had been exhausted. She ran her hand lightly over his brow, pushing back his chestnut hair and staring at his handsome face. It was no wonder every woman in the world had a crush on the man. With his chiseled jaw and strong cheekbones, he was destined to be a heartthrob. His blue eyes tipped with long, thick lashes could turn women to jelly with a single glance.

  And yet, she sensed there was so much more to him than his classic good looks. In the past week, she’d discovered his intelligence, his humor, his undeniable drive to constantly succeed. More than that, she felt drawn inexplicably to the core of strength that seemed to flow from his soul, pulling her toward him in ways she couldn’t understand.

  She felt an irrefutable need to give herself to this man in ways she’d only ever dreamed of alone in the dark of night, in ways she knew were twisted and wrong. Yet, he seemed to call to the most secret desires of her heart. She closed her eyes, desperate to block out the emotions, the needs he provoked. She shuttered her heart securely against him, willing away the shattered, scarred truth with all of her might.

  No, she told herself harshly.

  No.

  “Now this is the way I like to wake up,” a deep voice said beside her.

  Gwen opened her eyes, briefly surprised to find her face only inches away from Ty’s. She blinked a few times to make sure she wasn’t dreaming, then their nighttime conversation drifted back through her consciousness.

  “You were supposed to stay on your own side.” Her voice was gruff with sleep. As she came fully awake
, she became aware of his hand lightly rubbing a bare bit of skin at her waist, beneath her T-shirt.

  “So sue me.” He leaned so close to her the only air she could feel was that of his soft breath on her cheek. His hand stopped caressing her waist and instead gripped it, pulling her even closer to him.

  “I don’t think this is a good idea,” she whispered, despite the fact her hands were resting, unresisting, on his chest. She’d placed them there to push him away, but instead the traitorous things were exploring the rock-hard definitions of his pecs.

  “I think a kiss in the morning is always a good idea.”

  “Just a kiss?” She cursed her sudden breathlessness.

  “Just a kiss, Gwen.” She was shocked by her disappointment until he added, “for now.”

  His lips brushed hers and her body shuddered at the impact. His mouth wasn’t gentle, it wasn’t easy. He took her lips with a roughness that proclaimed his possession. He took everything she offered with her lips and tongue and demanded more. His hands drifted up to her face, engulfing her cheeks in his firm grip, turning her head exactly the way he wanted it. His teeth nipped at her lower lip and she thought for a moment she heard him growl before his tongue plunged into her mouth, tangling with hers. She’d never been kissed like this in her life and the feeling was heady. It made her dizzy, giddy, reckless and she suddenly realized she wanted more. Hell, she wanted all.

  She reached up and held his face to hers, twisting her fingers in his hair. He mimicked the action with her own long tresses and she was amazed by her reaction to his rough touch. Each time he pulled her hair, the sensation of pain flowed pleasurably down her body, causing her hips to flex, searching for relief. Her body felt as if he’d set it aflame and she found her reactions shockingly animalistic.

  “Harder. Pull harder,” she begged and he responded in turn. His lips trailed along her face, his rough beard scratching her sensitive skin until he reached her ear. He bit her earlobe, pulling her hair at the same time and she cried out, her hips gyrating wildly.

  His hard body came over hers as he took control of her wrists, dragging them above her head and holding them firmly in place with one of his hands. She sensed he knew what his actions were doing to her as he pressed his covered cock firmly between her legs, letting her feel the proof of the desire they shared. She wanted to scream at him to take off his pants and give her what she needed, but instinctively she knew he would refuse her.