Rough Cut

by Mari Carr

  Who knew? Perhaps she would be the one woman who could handle his needs. Perhaps she would be the one who would accept him for himself, rather than the image on the screen and—dear God, please—perhaps she would be the one to stick around for a lifetime or so.

  Tires on the driveway pulled him from his thoughts and he opened the front door as she emerged from the back of the limo and looked at him. He could see she was surprised to find him standing there.

  “Hey, Hollywood,” she said as she climbed the steps.

  He reached out his hand and she accepted it. He didn’t release her until he’d pulled her straight into his arms. He lowered his lips to hers before she could resist and kissed her long and hard. She struggled for only a moment before opening her mouth to his questing tongue.

  When at last he allowed her to pull away, he grinned at her annoyed expression.

  “Dammit,” she whispered. “I can see you haven’t repented the error of your ways.”

  “Sweetheart, the only mistake I could make with you would be to walk away.”

  “Ty, this isn’t how—”

  “Come inside. I’ve had the cook prepare us a nice lunch. I thought we’d eat out by the pool.”

  “I really want to talk about—”

  “After lunch, I thought we could take a swim,” he said. She narrowed her eyes at his continual interruptions. He knew she would continue to resist him, but he wouldn’t allow her to run from him. She was about to find herself under a full-scale Ty attack. He’d battened down his hatches and was ready to see her white flag waving surrender against the horizon. Failure wasn’t an option he was ready to face.

  After lunch and a pleasant conversation, Gwen leaned back in the poolside lounger feeling more relaxed then she would have expected. Ty’s welcoming kiss, the special lunch, the way he was looking at her, proved he had no intention of backing off. She would be here for two months, working with him day after day, and she realized there was no way she’d be able to fight off her attraction to him.

  “That’s a serious look.” He glanced over at her from his own lounger.

  “You aren’t even going to try to keep your hands off of me, are you?”

  He gave her a wicked smile. “Nope.”

  Just sitting anywhere near the man caused such a soul-melting heat to course through her that she felt as if she were being consumed by flames.

  “Will you at least try to understand where I’m coming from about the professionalism?”

  “Nope.” He grinned as he spoke and she felt herself falling under his spell. No wonder the guy was a box-office sensation. No woman alive could resist him when he smiled like that. Her bedroom toys had been overworked since her return to New York, but regardless of how many times she’d tried to sate her overwhelming needs, nothing had come even close to relieving her weary body as he had with just his fingers.

  “I want you.” He forced her gaze to meet his. “I’m not going to lie, not going to pretend that I don’t.”

  “But I don’t want you.” The prevarication hovered between them like a foul odor.

  “Don’t lie to me, Gwen. Ever.”

  She tried to stifle the shudder that passed through her at the tone of his voice and she attempted to clear away the sensations swamping her until she couldn’t form a coherent thought. She wasn’t sure how he was able to affect her so strongly, but she found herself drawn to him like a bee to honey.

  He was controlling their personal play, and he had been from the start. The idea of him taking control of her so thoroughly should have jarred her sense of self-preservation, had her running for the hills, but instead she relished his power.

  This is wrong.

  The words weaved their way back into her conscience as fear and unease swamped her, washing away all other emotions. She’d spent the past two weeks attempting to regain her wits, to remember why she had to fight against Ty’s advances. If he knew what she truly wanted from him, he’d turn away from her with disgust. It had happened before and she wasn’t strong enough to suffer the rejection again. She tried to alleviate the tension with humor.

  “Listen, Hollywood, you’re just gonna have to accept the fact that I’m not interested in pursuing a relationship with you. I think perhaps we should focus our energy on the screenplay. That is why I’m here. The only reason I’m here.”

  A scowl crossed his face as he rose and walked to her side. She struggled to raise her gaze to his. His eyes seemed to see right through her and she knew he’d read the fear, the lies, the confusion in her face as easily as he read his cue cards on the set.

  “You’re right.”

  She glanced up, shocked by his quick capitulation. “The screenplay should be our top priority, and with that thought in mind, I’ve made some arrangements for our writing.” He gestured toward the house. “Come with me.”

  She followed him in silence, through the living room and up a grand staircase, her mind whirling the entire time as he led her into the largest, most ornate bedroom she’d ever seen.

  “I don’t understand,” she said hoarsely, clearing her throat, hoping to dislodge the lump that had formed there.

  “We’ll write in here, Gwen.” He crossed the room to a large desk. She was shocked to realize her laptop was set up on the surface. Another glance around the room confirmed that her suitcases were there as well.

  “Is this a guest room?” she asked. “I thought I’d be staying in the guest house again.”

  He shook his head. “This is my room. You’ll be staying here.”

  “No.” She backed away a step. “I most definitely will not.”

  “You said yourself that you’re here to work on the screenplay.”

  “And how in the hell will me staying in your bedroom accomplish that?”

  He flashed her a charming grin that she immediately distrusted. “The stories in Evening Songs revolve around four couples in their bedrooms at night. The first story is a young married couple on their honeymoon and the second deals with the couple struggling to make a baby. ‘The Darkest Night’ shows a couple who embrace BDSM, and the final story is about the last night an elderly couple spend together before the wife dies in her sleep.”

  “I wrote the damn stories. I hardly need a synopsis.”

  His smile never dimmed. “What better place to write the screenplay of a movie that takes place exclusively in a bedroom than in the bedroom?”

  “That doesn’t explain why my luggage is here. If you want to write here, fine. I don’t have a problem with that.” Her body chastised her mind for those words. There was no way she could sit at this desk writing day after day with Ty and the world’s most inviting, king-sized, canopied bed only a few feet away. “But I hardly think I need my clothing in here.”

  “I’ve cleared my schedule for a week.”

  “Cleared it? I thought you were going to continue to work on your other projects while we wrote. I’ve made arrangements to be here for two months, not a week.”

  He shrugged off her comment and took a step closer to her, as she struggled not to step back, not to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he unnerved her. “Oh, we won’t finish in that time. I doubt we’ll get more than the outline sketched and some research completed, but I want us to have time to put our thoughts on paper and to get a few things established between us. While we’re working on this screenplay, we’re going to write, eat and sleep in here. Let’s call it our honeymoon phase.”

  “What?”

  “We’re going to become your characters. Play out the parts of each couple, get inside their heads and see what makes them tick.”

  “You’re crazy,” she whispered. “We can’t do that.”

  “Why not? You’re a writer, Gwen. You can’t tell me you don’t do detailed characters sketches prior to writing. I’ve read your books. Your characters jump off the page as if they are living, breathing entities. I’m an actor and a director. I attempt to do the same thing every time I take on a new role. I try to b
ecome the person I’m portraying. This could be an interesting experiment. Combining your writing skills with my acting ones to create these people. Think about it.”

  She was spellbound by the enthusiasm, the energy that seemed to radiate from every part of him. When she’d written the stories in Evening Songs, she had become incredibly attached to the fictional couples. They’d begun to feel like her family, her friends, and she’d missed them dearly when the book was finished. The idea of bringing them back to life, of stepping into their skins with Ty, was more appealing than she could have imagined. “I’m not an actress.”

  “You won’t be acting. These characters are you. You created them. They live inside you.”

  “The sex—”

  “They have sex. We’re going to have sex. You’re only kidding yourself if you think we aren’t going to give in to this thing between us, Gwen. I’ve felt it since the first moment I laid eyes on you and I know it’s been the same for you. We’re adults and neither of us is in a relationship. What is there to hold us back?”

  She considered his words, his invitation to join him in his bed to share her characters and her body with him. She was overwhelmed by how much she wanted what he was proposing. Surely she could do this. It was just sex, right? She would simply have to make sure they didn’t cross over the boundary between normal sex and—

  She sighed. She would have to guard her fantasies carefully. There was no way she could let Ty see what dark desires lived inside her.

  She looked up at him and grinned at his charming smile. Damn movie star would definitely rock her world in bed, which would be a welcome change from her toys. She was sick of having sex alone.

  “Well?” he asked.

  “When do we start?”

  Chapter Four

  Vignette One: The Honeymoon

  “I think we should start at the beginning,” Ty suggested once he’d secured her agreement. She nodded and walked toward the desk. She was about to sit down to boot up her computer when he halted her. “Oh no, Gwen. We can hardly write until we’ve laid the groundwork.”

  “Groundwork?” Her heart skipped a beat as she knew exactly what groundwork he intended to lay.

  “Can you honestly tell me you’d be able to sit at that desk and write when your cunt is dripping wet with need?”

  She sucked in a breath and started to deny his words, but he placed a gentle finger against her lips. “Don’t lie,” he said firmly and her words died in her throat. “Your nipples are rock hard and poking through that sheer blouse, tormenting me.” He leaned closer. “Your breathing is labored and I can practically hear your heart pounding from here. There’s no need to be nervous. We have all night.”

  “It’s still daytime.” She winced at the foolishness of her comment.

  “You were the one who wanted to fly all night after the wedding to get here. I’ve been very patient, Gwen, but I’m only human and a man only has one honeymoon.”

  He was already assuming the role from her story, but he was definitely taking liberties with the lines and character.

  “The bride’s name is Becca,” she said, correcting him in regards to the part she was supposedly playing.

  He shook his head. “You and I will always be Ty and Gwen. Make no mistake of that.” He took a step back and smiled. “Take off your blouse. I haven’t seen those gorgeous tits of yours yet.”

  She sucked in a nervous breath. In “The Honeymoon”, her character was a virgin who had saved herself for marriage. Gwen was no virgin, no innocent in the bedroom, and regardless of Ty’s talent as an actor, she knew he wouldn’t be able to pull off the role of a bumbling, nervous groom. Hell, given the way he was staring at her like a tiger stalking his prey, she got the feeling this honeymoon and the one in her book would be as similar as chocolate and mud.

  With shaking hands, she began to undo the buttons of her blouse as he watched. His eyes grew dark with arousal and for a moment, she was struck again by the feeling of being watched by a very large, virile and hungry beast. He remained motionless as she slipped the silky material off her shoulders. She felt naked, despite the cover provided by her lacy bra.

  “You’re beautiful,” he whispered.

  “I want to see you too,” she said breathlessly, but he merely grinned and shook his head.

  “Not yet. Slip off your skirt.”

  She unfastened the button at the waist and slid down the zipper. She was about to push the entire skirt down when he stopped her.

  “Wait,” he said. “Turn around. Slide it down nice and slow and look over your shoulder at me as you do so.”

  Suddenly she could see the advantages of sleeping with a director. She complied with his request, for the first time in her life feeling sexy, hot, desirable. She kept her eyes on him as she shimmied the material over her hips. She’d worn a thong underneath and even the small part of her mind that denied wanting this had to admit she’d worn it for him. She saw him suck in a deep breath as her ass was bared to his eyes, only the thin string of the panties covering her.

  “The thong, Gwen. Take it and your bra off. I want you naked. Now.”

  She started to turn around to face him, but he shook his head. She peeled the panties off torturously slow, delighted by the tenting at the front of his pants. She’d done that. She’d made him want her. The feeling was heady, exciting.

  She stepped out of the thong, then reached to unfasten her bra. She was startled when she felt him step closer. He put his arms around her and as she pulled the lacy garment away, he was there to envelop her breasts in his large, strong palms from behind her.

  She marveled at the sensitivity of his hot breath against her neck and his rough hands against her delicate flesh. “Are you a virgin, wife?”

  Her breathing raced and she struggled to speak. All she could do was shake her head in response.

  “No,” he said. “Are you sure?”

  She was confused by his question. Was she supposed to lie? He’d warned her not to. It was obvious that regardless of his suggestion that they reenact the stories of her book, tonight was not playacting and they were not the young, bumbling couple from “The Honeymoon”.

  “I’m sure,” she whispered.

  “Have you ever been tied up in bed?”

  She jerked a bit, but his hands on her breasts, gently massaging the pliant flesh, held her firmly in place.

  She shook her head.

  “Bend over.”

  For a moment, her mind revolted against her body’s screaming demands that she do anything and everything this man said. When she failed to move, he released her breasts and pushed her shoulders forward and down.

  “Grasp your ankles and stay like that. Don’t move unless I give you permission.”

  She did as he asked, her thoughts whirling. She was in serious danger of hyperventilating. Her breathing was harsh, ragged and he must have sensed her intense anxiety. “Calm down, Gwen. Relax. I won’t hurt you.”

  She wanted to snarl at his reassurance. Pain was the least of her worries. She needed him to hurry the hell up. He chuckled at her reaction and she wondered if he could read her mind.

  His hands slowly rubbed over her ass, lightly gripping her hips and pulling her against his clad erection.

  Why is he still dressed?

  She wanted to yell at him to correct that oversight, but she knew the complaint would fall on deaf ears. He was truly the director of this scene.

  She was shocked when after one nudge of his cock against her ass, he stepped back. He replaced his hips with his hands as he dragged them through the slit down to her pussy. She could feel the moisture pooled there, knew she was practically dripping, knew she’d never been wetter.

  “Spread your legs apart, but keep your hands around your ankles.”

  She struggled to obey, but apparently he wasn’t happy with her attempt. “Farther apart,” he demanded. “I won’t let you fall.”

  His tone sent a fresh flood of juice between her thighs and she realized
the error of his thinking. How could she tell him she was falling, falling so deeply into this scene, into his words, that she feared she’d never find her way out again?

  He steadied her with his hands upon her waist and she closed her eyes against the sensations of being completely naked before this man, baring all her assets to his hungry gaze.

  His fingers returned to her pussy and he used her juices to toy with her clit, his touches too light, too torturously soft. She struggled to push against him, but in her current position, her movements were restricted, difficult.

  “Please.” The cry was a familiar one whenever she was in his presence.

  He responded to her plea not with words, but actions. His fingers left her clit completely and she groaned.

  “No,” he said. “Your orgasms belong to me and you haven’t earned one yet. You haven’t finished answering my question.”

  Question? He asked a question?

  “Are you a virgin?”

  “No,” she whispered. This wasn’t her book, these weren’t her characters. It may be a honeymoon of his making, but she couldn’t pretend to be anything other than who she was. Besides, she wanted this night to be about her, not some make-believe character from her damn book.

  “Are you sure?” His fingers traveled to the opening of her body. Suddenly and without warning, he slammed three digits inside her hot, needy flesh.

  She cried out, gratitude mingling with the stars that flew through her. She tried to push against him, her body and mind screaming for him to move, to pound inside her, but he held his fingers motionless for several moments.

  “You’ve had a man’s fingers in your cunt before?”

  She nodded, but her silence seemed to annoy him. “Say it, Gwen.”

  “Yes,” she hissed. “I’ve had a man’s fingers there before.”

  “And a man’s cock?”

  “Yes.”

  “A dildo, a vibrator?”

  “Yes.” She remembered her poor, battered toys as they lay in her unopened suitcase. She’d given them a workout during her two weeks away from Hollywood. Ty’s name was the one word she’d cried out night after night.