“Mason?” she said softly.
“Yeah?”
“Maybe I should be your bodyguard and drag you out of your workaholic box every once in a while.”
He was quiet for a long moment, and then his fingers moved silently over hers and he said, “You already have.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MASON WAS LIVING in hell, and it was all his fault. He’d opened the gates when he’d told Remi he’d help her with her exercise routines, and all sorts of trouble had flooded in ever since. Remi had spent the last three mornings prancing around in skimpy tops and shorts as they worked out together, and the evenings swimming in the tiniest fucking bikini he’d ever seen because he’d mentioned that swimming would tone her entire body.
Big mistake.
Nothing compared to the sight of Remington Aldridge climbing out of a pool dripping wet, her gorgeous body begging to be touched, tasted, and worshipped. Even now, as he waited for Remi outside her trailer, he saw the whole damn scene in his mind in slow motion—Remi tossing her wet mane over her shoulder as she bent to pick up a towel, blotting the water from her neck and chest, and then lying down on a lounge chair, her wet bikini leaving nothing to his imagination. He gritted his teeth against the white-hot lightning burning through him.
He’d like to see her come all right . . . on his tongue.
If all of that wasn’t bad enough, sneaking her out of the house had totally backfired on him. He’d wanted to help her experience something a little rebellious to make up for all that she’d missed as a kid, and then he’d gotten lost in the moment, telling her all his long-held secrets. What the hell? When they’d finally made it home, he’d felt like he’d known her forever and he’d been this close to kissing her good night. It was one thing to be sexually attracted to her, but this was a whole other level of attraction. He never expected to have so much in common with her or to feel so drawn to her.
“Hey, Mason,” Carl Welch, the second assistant director, called out as he strode determinedly toward Mason carrying an iPad, his ever-present headset efficiently in place. “They need Remi in makeup.”
Mason had done a background check on Carl and had found nothing concerning about the married father of a young son. “No problem.”
Carl poked at his iPad and headed for another trailer.
Mason knocked on Remi’s trailer door. When she didn’t answer, he knocked again. She’d been in there a long time, and he wondered if she’d finally conked out and fallen asleep. She’d been running herself ragged, working twelve- to fifteen-hour days, signing autographs for overzealous fans, and practicing her lines long after she took her nightly drive-Mason-crazy swim. At least he’d convinced her to eat. They’d gotten in the habit of making breakfast together after their workouts, and although she was never very hungry at night, he could usually get her to eat a salad with some form of protein on it. He took that as a win in the keeping-Remi-healthy department.
“Remi?”
Answered with silence and knowing time was of the essence, he opened the door and found her sitting in the middle of the floor, concentrating on cutting a piece of paper. He could hear music coming from her earbuds. No wonder she hadn’t heard him knocking. Dozens of paper hearts littered the floor, some covered in gold glitter, others cut from construction paper, the remnants of which were also scattered about. A book lay on the floor with an X-ACTO knife sticking out from between the pages, which explained why some of the hearts had text printed on them. A few feet from where she sat were several stacks of hearts, the largest on the bottom, smallest on top, with colorful strings attached at the top.
Mason realized she was making ornaments, and more importantly, that Remi was anxious.
He tapped her on the shoulder, startling her. Her gorgeous eyes shot up to him, and then a heart-pounding smile appeared and she took out her earbuds.
“Hey,” she said lightly.
“Sorry to interrupt, but Carl was just here. They need you in the makeup trailer.”
“Okay.” She put her earbuds back in and continued cutting.
Remi was meticulous about being on time, and now that he knew she was anxious, he wasn’t going to stand back and wait to find out why. He’d been watching her like a hawk. If someone had spooked her or treated her badly, he’d have seen it, which meant there was something going on in that pretty head of hers.
He crouched beside her and took out one of her earbuds, ignoring her scowl. “What’s going on, Princess?”
She pressed her lips together, turning those beautiful eyes back to her project, working the scissors with a vengeance. “Nothing. I just want to finish this before I go.”
He covered her busy hands with one of his and said, “Why are these ornaments more important than your next scene?”
“Because my mother taught me how to make them.”
Although he noted the importance of the project, he wasn’t buying that as a reason for her to delay getting to the set. “Not a good enough reason to hinder your reputation. Try again. Does today have a special significance? Are you giving those ornaments to someone? Using them on the set?”
“I don’t ever give them away, and no, they’re not coming with me to the set. Making them helps me calm down.” She put down the scissors and pushed to her feet, pacing.
Her brooding mood fit the outfit she was wearing for her upcoming scene—skintight black jeans and a too-small black tank top, revealing far too much cleavage and the lace bra that barely contained her breasts.
“I didn’t see you bring these from home. Do you keep craft supplies in your trailer?”
“Yes. I never know when I’ll need them, so I bring them every time I’m filming.”
“How long have you been using this as your stress reliever?” He could think of a hell of a lot of better ways to relieve stress, but they mostly involved Remi naked.
She shrugged. “Since I was little.”
The importance of what she said dragged him from his dirty thoughts. “You must have boxes full of things you’ve made.”
Her cheeks pinked up, and she crossed her arms defensively. “So?”
He went to her, carefully walking around the pretty ornaments. “I’m not judging you, Remi. I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on. Maybe I can help.”
“It’s stupid. I have to do a kissing scene with Raz, and I hate kissing scenes with a passion. Like truly, madly hate them.”
Mason chuckled. He remembered her saying something about having trouble with intimate scenes, but he hadn’t imagined she meant kissing. “Seriously? That’s what’s causing your anxiety? A beautiful woman like you must have kissed dozens of men.” He hated how it felt to say that, but as much as he wanted Remi all to himself, he knew that wasn’t an option. What mattered was helping her get over her anxiety and to the set.
She threw her hands up and said, “I’ve kissed dozens of men on-screen, not off. But that doesn’t make it any easier.”
“Come on, Remi. Raz is a good-looking guy. How hard can it be to kiss him? Is it because he’s your ex? Is that freaking you out?” As he said the words, he remembered something else she’d said when they were talking about Raz. For the record, chemistry is everything in my book. I have to feel it to kiss a guy, much less have sex with him. Damn, why couldn’t he have remembered that before he’d opened his mouth?
“No! It doesn’t matter that he’s my ex. I should want to kiss him, right? I mean, he’s America’s hottest heartthrob. Women would give anything to kiss him. But kissing is intimate, and it’s never been easy for me to fake.”
“I know you told me that. I’m sorry I didn’t remember earlier.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice, trying to reassure her. “Remi, you’re an incredible actress. I saw you go from serious to bawling your eyes out on set yesterday, then today, laughing so hard you were doubled over after having a seething argument with the producer. I’m sure you can nail this scene.”
“You think it’s easy?” She was pacing, with a fe
ral look in her eyes.
“I didn’t say that. I just believe in your acting abilities.”
“I swear just thinking about it makes me feel like I have spiders crawling on my skin.” She stopped in front of him and put her hands on her hips. “Let me show you what I have to do. You’ll see how it comes out stilted and uncomfortable. Here’s the setup. Raz has just come in from an NA meeting and he’s feeling down, like he’s a total failure despite being clean. It’s a really emotional time for him, and for us.”
“I saw the script when you were running lines the other night. I know the gist of the scene.” He figured this would be a challenging scene for Raz, but the idea that Remi had trouble with kissing scenes still sort of shocked him, despite all she’d said.
“Good, because I need you to act frustrated and pace around a little, like Raz will.”
He was so sexually frustrated his balls were close to exploding. He didn’t have to reach far to let that frustration roll out.
Remi closed her eyes, breathing deeply. When she opened them, they were softer, concerned, matching her expression. Mason had learned how to differentiate Remi’s real emotions from those he witnessed when she was acting. When she acted, she tended to keep her chin a tad higher than normal, and her movements were graceful, lacking the nonchalance of not being filmed. Her smiles were effervescent on set, but when she was off set, they lit up the sky. And her eyes? He could go on for hours noting the differences between the deep, inescapable emotions he’d witnessed the other night after her girlfriends had left and on the water tower, and the surface-level emotions she drew upon when she was acting. He was sure to anyone else, what they saw on the big screen was raw and magnificent, but Mason had seen the woman behind the veil; he’d gotten lost in the unrelenting pain and sorrow he’d seen in her eyes and felt billowing off her like the wind.
He raked a hand through his hair, allowing the silent war that had been raging in his head, and his heart, for days to take control. He strode across the floor, hands fisting, his insides twisting as he mentally toyed with the fine ethical line he’d nearly crossed too many times with Remi. He’d been burying his emotions so deep, it felt good to let them brew.
“Why do you keep doing this to yourself?” Remi pleaded, closing the distance between them. “You’re a good man, a great man. You’re doing all the right things.”
And thinking all the wrong ones.
“Look at me,” she said seductively. “Do you see how much I want this? How much I want you? Us? Let me in, Lenny.” With pleading eyes, she pressed her hand to his chest. “You think you need walls to protect yourself from your past, but don’t you see? Your past is what brought you here, to me.”
She grabbed his shirt with both hands, a sea of emotions swimming in her eyes. Mason’s hands circled her waist, and he felt her entire being sway closer.
“All those years of hurt and anguish, when you lost yourself in drugs, when you turned away from everyone who reached out to you, didn’t make you any less of a man.” She tightened her grip on his shirt with one hand, reaching up to caress his cheek with her other, her voice turning soft as velvet. “You’re stronger and braver than any man I’ve ever known, and I want to know all of you.”
I want to know all of you, too.
He gritted his teeth, telling himself she was only acting, despite knowing—feeling—the difference. His nerves were strung tighter than guitar strings. He was too hyped up to trust his judgment.
“I want you, Lenny.” She pressed her body against him, and he was an asshole, because he couldn’t stop himself from holding her tighter. “I want the good, the bad, and the parts of you that you don’t even want to acknowledge.” She went up on her toes, breathing heavily, her eyes so dark and hungry, the gold and green flecks shone like stars in the night sky. “Stop holding back. Take me with everything you have.”
Mason was stuck between heaven and hell, with Remi’s luscious mouth right there, begging to be devoured. Her chest rose against him with every heated breath, tauntingly enticing. She pressed impossibly closer, so not even air could fit between them. The only thing stilted or uncomfortable was behind his zipper. He lowered his mouth toward hers, fighting with everything he had to keep himself from taking what he wanted. He forced himself to stop short and practically growled, “I’m not seeing a problem here, Remi.”
A knock sounded on the door, but neither of them moved.
Remi rolled her lip between her teeth, doing that cock-hardening innocent/hungry thing with her eyes that clawed at his self-control.
“Because I’m not acting,” she said soft as a whisper—and loud as a hurricane.
Several hard thuds sounded at the door, and it swung open. Carl peered in, and Mason released Remi, stepping back across the line he’d nearly crossed. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. The mixture of shock and relief in Remi’s eyes tore at his gut. He had no idea if that look meant she was relieved he’d stepped back, or relieved she’d said she wasn’t acting.
“Sorry, um . . .” Carl stammered. “They need you—”
“I’m coming,” Remi said quickly, and hurried out the door with Carl.
Mason followed her down the steps, leaning close enough to say, “Remi . . . ?” for her ears only.
She looked over her shoulder and hissed, “Don’t look at me like that! It’s not my fault.”
Before he could respond, Carl started going over a schedule with Remi, closing the door on any hope Mason had of conversation. He kept his eyes peeled, mentally ticking off the names of the crew as they passed, memorizing the face of every bystander. All the while Because I’m not acting fought for his attention.
He struggled with that thought as Remi went through makeup. She came out of the trailer and looked sheepishly at him as handlers ushered her toward the set. Damn it. He had to nix that embarrassment so she didn’t mess up her lines. He bided his time as she went through the camera rehearsal, where they told the actors where to stand and move so the camera crew could ascertain their positions and lighting. Then the actors met with the assistant director, and they were asked to hang around, which meant filming wasn’t far off.
Mason kept an eye on their surroundings while Remi talked with two supporting actors. The need to talk with her about what had happened magnified with every passing minute. When Remi finally broke away, Raz sauntered over and put a hand on her shoulder. Mason had the urge to shove Raz’s hand off her, but he could tell by Remi’s expression that she wasn’t bothered by it, which made Mason an asshole for even thinking it.
After Raz walked away, Mason went to her, unwilling to wait another minute. He guided her away from prying eyes, feeling her nervous energy. “Everything okay?”
“Raz knows I hate kissing scenes. He was just trying to ease my nerves.”
She looked at the set, the other actors, the director, everywhere except at Mason, and that killed him. He knew what he had to do and stifled the gnawing urge to talk about what had happened in the trailer. Instead he said, “You’ve got this, Remi. You’ll nail the scene.”
They called Remi to the set.
“You think so?” She looked a little disappointed. “How? Pretend he’s you?”
No fucking way. Biting that back, he said, “If that’s what it takes, yes. You’re a pro. Don’t let whatever happened in the trailer get under your skin.”
“Too late,” she said softly.
Everything she did got under his skin. He stepped closer and took her by the shoulders. She looked longingly up at him, the air between them pulsing with lust and something much deeper. He fucking hated doing the right thing.
But he had to build her up, to help her get the scene done well despite wanting to lower his mouth to hers and kiss away the disappointment in her voice, so he said, “Then use it, Remi. Do whatever it takes to get out there and blow that fucking scene away, you hear me? Don’t ever let anyone or anything stand in your way of getting everything you want and deserve in this world.”
CHAPTER T
WELVE
MASON HAD CARRIED out dangerous covert operations without a single hesitation. He’d tracked seemingly untraceable people and brought justice crashing down upon some of the world’s most hardened criminals without a second thought. So how was it that sweet little Remington Aldridge could practically bring him to his knees with nothing more than a few simple words? Even on the battlefield he’d never felt as vulnerable as he did when they were alone together. She’d effortlessly stripped him of his defenses, and now he was so tightly wound, he was ready to tear someone’s head off.
As he watched Remi and Raz work up to their kissing scene, it was mainly Raz’s head he wanted, but anyone’s would do.
Remi nailed her lines, proving why she was an A-lister. Every sentence was perfectly intoned, every action poignantly carried out. Mason noted the looks of awe and appreciation from the crew. Even Raz was phenomenal. Mason couldn’t hate the guy for being good at what he did or for having once been with Remi, because any man in his right mind would want to be in his shoes.
The hair on the back of Mason’s neck stood on end as he scanned the grounds, catching sight of a group of fans forming across the field at the edge of the parking lot. Remi was still dead set on signing autographs at every opportunity, though this morning she’d made a comment about maybe cutting back. About fucking time. The woman gave her all to everyone else, and from what he’d seen, she did very little for herself.
He turned his attention back to Remi as the critical kissing scene began. Mason’s chest constricted when her hand landed on Raz’s chest, but at the same time he was rooting for her, hoping she’d not only pull it off, but blow everyone away.
And as he watched, she did just that.
She went up on her toes, and Raz’s mouth came down over hers, so real and impassioned, jealousy streaked through Mason. His hands fisted by his sides, but the second they yelled “Cut” and applause rang out, Mason was right there with them, pumping his fist and cheering. He was so damn proud of her he could barely see straight.
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