by Amy Gamet
“Get the blanks,” said Lockheed to the prop master, who’d appeared on the roof moments before. “We’ve only got half an hour before we lose the light.”
He couldn’t be serious. “Evan, I don’t think I can do this anymore today,” she said.
“Just a couple of takes.”
She was seething, her natural inclination to go with the flow now percolating with heat. She had blood on her hands, on her dress, and this man was out of his goddamn mind. Who would play Dante now that Anthony had been shot? She shook her head frantically. “No.”
He turned back as if seeing her for the first time. “Excuse me?”
“Someone was trying to kill us. Do you not see that?”
“It was a prop mistake.”
“No. Someone put real bullets in the gun. That’s not a mistake. That’s attempted murder.” She gestured to the scene below with her chin. “Or worse if Anthony dies. You should be worried about him right now and finding out who did this, not focusing on the stupid scene.”
Lockheed was looking at her like he’d never met her before. She fought herself to keep from taking the words back, but she was wound so tightly from the threats she’d been receiving, she had to speak out. Trevor’s hands squeezed her hips.
“The person who did this was after you,” said Lockheed. “My movie is in danger because of you.”
“That’s not my fault.”
He stared at her for several beats before looking away. “We’ll stop for today. I want everyone back here tomorrow morning at seven thirty.”
3
Trevor sat on an uncomfortable wicker sofa in Olivia’s dressing room, watching her step around the glass shards as she packed. He’d suggested they leave the studio for the night, and she’d agreed, insisting they wait with Anthony until he was taken away in an ambulance.
They’d come back here so she could shower and wash the blood off, throwing her clothes in the garbage can and insisting the costume department would just have to deal with it because she was never wearing that particular dress again.
Hawk’s eyes settled on Olivia’s purse, which still sat in the corner, remembering how its location had concerned him. “Why did you leave your purse and cell phone in your dressing room?”
“Lockheed doesn’t like phones on the set, and there’s nowhere safe to leave my purse.” She blew out air. “Not that my dressing room is safe either, considering the notes I’ve gotten here, but I have to leave it someplace.”
That made sense. He was used to her taking those things with her in real life, but a movie set was completely different. “And the broken mirror?”
“What about it?”
“How did it happen?”
“I threw it.”
He had a hard time picturing such an angry outburst coming from Olivia. “Why?”
She stopped walking and faced him. “Why do you think?”
“Did I do something to make you angry?”
“No.” She went back to packing. “It had nothing to do with you.”
“You don’t usually throw mirrors.”
“I don’t usually get threatening letters on my pillow, either.”
His spine could have been made of steel. “You didn’t tell me about the pillow.”
“What difference does it make? I told you about the rest.”
“I would have been here sooner.”
“Well, maybe that’s why I didn’t tell you.”
He stood, trying to keep up with her changing mood. “You don’t want me here?”
She sighed heavily, throwing a lacy nightgown into her case and failing to meet his eyes. “I didn’t say that.”
“No, but you implied it. What’s going on, Olivia?”
“Nothing. Nothing’s going on except someone sneaking into my dressing room, wanting to see me naked in the shower, and quite possibly killing me. Nothing you need to be concerned about.”
He closed the distance between them and grabbed her elbow. “Hey, that’s not fair. You weren’t giving me all the information.”
“Really? You didn’t know someone was in my dressing room? You didn’t know I was getting threatening letters?” She pulled her arm away. “You didn’t know I was scared and I needed you here with me?”
He swallowed against the tightness in his throat. “I knew, Livy. I knew and I should have been here.”
“Well, forgive me if I got a little upset and threw a mirror.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“I should have been here the first time you called. I should have hopped on a plane and refused to leave your side.”
She pushed past him and into the bathroom, the sound of toiletries dropping into a bag fast and furious. It was just one night, but she was packing to avoid him and he knew it. He moved to the bathroom door. “I never should have let you out of my sight.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“But you shouldn’t have to.”
The medicine cabinet was empty but she continued to face it, not looking at him. “I didn’t want to need you. To take you away from HERO Force. I wanted to be strong.”
He moved to her, placing a hand on her back. “You’re more important than HERO Force.”
“Am I?”
He thought of the ring box in his pants pocket. “Absolutely.”
Her shoulders dropped.
“Can I hold you?” he asked.
Did he imagine the slight hesitation before she walked into his embrace? If it was real, her discomfort seemed to vanish almost instantly. This was Olivia in his arms, fitted against him just as she had been hundreds of times before. This was the woman he loved.
She needed comfort, and he begrudgingly admitted they needed to be reacquainted. The time they’d been apart had put distance between them and he needed to erase it before they could again be one.
“I missed you,” she whispered against his ear.
“I missed you, too.”
She pulled back. “I just need a few more things.”
“It’s only one night.”
“I want to stay gone forever, Trevor.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You don’t want to finish the movie?”
“I’ll finish the movie, but I don’t want to stay here anymore. I hate this place. Everywhere I look I think about my stalker coming in here, going through my things, being in my space.” She shook her head. “No more.”
“Whatever you want.”
“I want to leave.”
“Done.”
“Thank you,” she said.
While she finished packing, Hawk turned back to the table and the letters she’d gathered for him. There were four notes in all, each in the same black-inked script. The lettering was heavily slanted and appeared to have been written in haste. In the first letter the writer admired Olivia’s beauty, her small waist and long legs in particular.
Anger curled into a tight fist in Trevor’s abdomen.
The second letter spoke of touching her hair, wondering if it was as soft as it looked. One day you’ll wash your hair for me, naked in the shower, water dripping off your glorious breasts.
This time it was self-reproach that clawed at Trevor’s insides. She’d sent him a photo of each letter—nothing on this table came as a surprise—but sitting in her dressing room with his fiancée’s fear thick in the air, he couldn’t forgive himself for staying away.
You’re more important than HERO Force.
Am I?
He’d said yes, but the question still echoed in his brain.
He did good things as a member of the team. Took care of a lot of people. He’d personally freed hostages, protected heads of state, and returned kidnapped children to their desperate parents. Giving up HERO Force wasn’t a simple choice between taking care of Olivia and not taking care of her. It was far more complicated than that.
It meant giving up on doing good, giving up on himself as a warrior against evil. Was letting it go truly
the right thing to do? Or should he try to find some kind of compromise where he could be there for Olivia at a moment’s notice and still persevere with HERO Force?
One thing was certain. Olivia was stronger than he’d known. To receive these letters and remain here, working in a foreign country with only meager security, showed a side of her she hadn’t shared with him before.
He pulled the third letter closer to him, focusing on the violent words. The stalker was getting angry now, frustrated. Should I cut you and make you bleed? Maybe if you were afraid of me you’d give me the attention I deserve.
Trevor squeezed his eyes shut. He needed to take his feelings and turn them into action. Catch Olivia’s stalker and make him pay.
He pushed the letter away and pulled the most recent addition closer, the script now demonstrating the stalker’s escalation. I hear you screaming in my dreams, desperate for the pain to stop and for me to love you. I will break you down until you beg for me. Hurt you until you tell me you’ll be mine forever.
They were looking for a man just like him, someone who thought of Olivia before he fell asleep and first thing in the morning. The muscles of his arms tightened. He was ready to fight. “I need a list of everyone working on the film. Who can get that for me?”
“The director, Evan Lockheed.”
“I need to speak with him before we leave.”
His phone vibrated and he pulled it out, the text message short and sweet.
813 Rue de Chêne. Anytime, Hawk.
He’d texted his old commanding officer while he was waiting for his flight out of Atlanta. Mac O’Brady was one of the good guys, an expat who’d been living in France for years, but Hawk had heard he wasn’t doing so well these days. He’d make time to see him. Another SEAL could only come in handy.
4
The hotel Trevor picked was nearly an hour away, but despite her fatigue, Olivia was grateful for the distance. The farther away she was from the studio, the happier she was able to be. The car ride gave her time to think about this man and her feelings for him, and she was surprised to realize she was nervous.
She’d only been gone a month and a half, but it was as if they were starting over. The first part of their relationship began at the cabin they’d shared in the woods, moving smoothly from there to their apartment; the second was only beginning now. They hadn’t been apart until this hiatus, had never learned to love each other again after a separation.
I’m being ridiculous.
Making mountains out of molehills.
So what if she was nervous? It didn’t change anything about her relationship with this man. She was simply out of practice and was certain sex with Trevor would be as natural as it had ever been. But when she stepped into the hotel room, her heart was lodged firmly in her throat.
She thought back to the mountain cabin where they’d met, her longing as she’d leaned on one side of the bedroom door, he on the other. She’d wanted him so badly she could hardly stand it.
The hotel room door closed behind him and she jumped.
Definitely not melting with need.
“Are you okay?” he asked, dropping their bags and moving behind her, his arms encircling her like a bear in a trap. She shimmied her shoulders and stepped forward. “Just jumpy, I guess.” She faced him with a weak grin.
“It’s me, you know. You don’t have to be afraid around me.”
“I know.” To her horror, she wanted to cry. She forced the tears to stay in her eyes and lifted her chin. “It’s been hard, Trevor.” Her voice cracked on his name. “Really hard. I’ve been scared.”
“I know, and I’m so sorry you had to go through that alone.” He stepped closer and put his arms around her.
This time she forced herself to relax and imagined he was a warm, safe coat that would protect her from the storm. The smell of his skin was familiar and sharp, and she leaned into him. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. You’ve been through a lot. I’m the one who’s sorry.”
She nodded against his chest, imagining how different things would have been if he’d been here these last weeks. She wouldn’t have had to be afraid, wouldn’t have needed to shore herself up like a sinking dock.
Wouldn’t have had to be strong.
Her inner voice mocked her. It was this damn character, the marquess. The script that showed her growing into a woman who could take care of herself, the action she was performing in such sharp contrast to Olivia’s own reality. She’d been weak—she could see that now. The damsel in distress waiting for someone to save her.
And what better mate for the damsel than the SEAL?
Shut up, Olivia.
Hawk squeezed her against him, his erection pressing into her belly. She wanted to be free of these voices, these new expectations she had for herself. He was here. He’d finally come to help her. She no longer needed to be strong.
Her eyes popped open.
There was no going back.
Once she’d seen herself for the waif she was, she couldn’t take away that knowledge, the desire to improve. She was on her own journey of self-discovery whether she wanted it or not.
“We don’t have to make love if you don’t want to,” he said.
She looked up at him. “I want to. Just go slow, okay? It’s been a long time.”
His eyes darkened and she saw the depth of his desire. Her hands skated up his arms until she linked them behind his head. He leaned down and gave her a gentle kiss.
She couldn’t remember a time when he’d been so sweet. She kissed him back tentatively, expecting him to pick up the pace when he saw she was willing, but he did not.
She fitted her body more tightly against his. This time he kissed her, but he kissed her like they could be making out all night, not just a means to an end, and the first pulse of desire beat between her legs.
She opened her mouth, exploring, tasting him, pleased when she made him groan. She’d missed this—the connection with him, the fire in her breast. He took her head in his hands, but even though he held her captive, she was still very much in charge of their kisses.
Her cheeks gradually flooded with heat. “I love feeling how hard you are against me,” she whispered. “Sometimes I would imagine you were with me when I fell asleep and we were making love, but nothing compares to this.”
He cursed under his breath.
She let her hands trail up his back beneath his shirt, feeling the bunched muscles he would use to move inside her. The thought had her purring like a cat, her body undulating against his as he tasted her mouth with his tongue.
How many times had she imagined this? Had she wanted him in her bed, his body warm against hers? In the daytime she longed for his company and protection, but in the night she wanted his body to bring hers to life.
They kept kissing.
She was hot, overheating, and she took off her shirt in one fluid motion, his hands instantly coming to her breasts. She remembered the myriad times he’d touched her, orchestrating her response from her hardened nipples with his mouth and hands, and she longed for him to do it again.
She met his eyes, reaching inside the cups of her bra and lifting her breasts out of them. He moved down her body, capturing a nipple in his mouth and caressing it with his tongue before taking it inside. She gasped at the sensation, her knees buckling, and he held her up.
Now he was moving, reacting to her, no longer waiting for her to take the lead. He unfastened her pants, pushing them down her legs with her underwear, leaving her with only the bra beneath her breasts, forcing them upward.
She fumbled with the button on his jeans until he moved her hands out of the way, anxious to free himself, his cock hard and thick in her eager hands.
“Livy,” he whispered, picking her up, and her legs came around his torso before he turned around and pressed her firmly against the wall.
She wanted him to take her like this, and she arched her hips forward. “Please,” she begged.
He f
ound her entrance, filling her completely in one hard thrust. The wall was unforgiving as she took his full length, sensation exploding outward from her center and covering her limbs.
This is what I needed.
Her body remembered this. He felt glorious inside her as he filled her and retreated, his breathing heavy, groans of pleasure in her ear as he pumped into her sensitive center.
Her legs were suspended in the air, Trevor gripping her beneath her knees to hold her against the wall, the force of his thrusts and his obvious need for her driving her frenzied response.
She closed her eyes, pinpoints of light rushing past as she climbed higher, Trevor’s sounds changing as her muscles clenched tightly around him. She couldn’t escape his thrusting, couldn’t pull back, and the feelings overwhelmed her. His thrusts came faster, harder, prolonging her orgasm longer than she could believe until he joined her at the pinnacle, his muscles straining as he came.
Her breathing came fast in the darkness. Trevor retreated several inches and pushed into her again, the movement on her overly sensitized body making her cry out.
This was as close as two people could become. No one had ever let their soul mingle with someone else’s the way she did with him—she was certain of it now—and she would never let him get so far away from her as to forget it in the future.
He moved his head, resting forehead to forehead, his breath matching hers. They were one person, finally reunited and whole. “I love you,” she whispered.
“I love you, too, baby.”
5
Olivia used her toes to flip the drain switch down and let some water out of the tub, not willing to stop the flow of hot water into the bath. The noise and sensation were soothing, and her soul needed soothing right now.
An acting teacher once told her it was normal to feel defeated and down after a comedic scene, and she wondered now if it was normal to feel sad and emotional after mind-blowing sex with the man she loved.
Probably not.
She wiped at her runny nose and leaned her head back against the porcelain. It wasn’t just the sex that had her head in a tizzy. She’d felt the hard square in Trevor’s pants pocket and would bet money there was an engagement ring inside.
