by M. S. Parker
“Maybe what?” I tried. I needed to know more. Okay, I wanted to know more, but I also needed to know more about her—and about Glenn. I hardly knew anything about him or their relationship, and I had to figure out what it was he did that would eventually lead to her ending her life.
“Nothing.” She shook her head, giving me a sad smile. “It’s nothing.”
“Florence!”
The director waved at her from across the set, and she nodded at me before turning away.
“See you in a bit,” she called over her shoulder.
I watched her go, and a moment later, I jolted in surprise when the director swatted her on the butt.
“Let’s get to work, gorgeous,” he said.
She just continued on to the set, taking her place, completely ignoring what he’d done.
“What the hell?” I muttered, looking around. Hadn’t anybody else seen that? If they did, nobody looked bothered.
Maybe that wasn’t unusual here and now. There were so many things going on here that would never happen in my time, but nobody thought twice about them. Shaking my head, I retreated to a corner and settled in to watch her run lines again. They were supposed to start filming soon, but with a new lead coming on, would they have to start over?
I didn’t know enough about movie making to say. I watched as Florence went through receiving the news that her husband had been killed, then watched as the director gave her some pointers on how to cry better.
How to cry better. I almost laughed, but suspected it wouldn’t be received well, so I swallowed my amusement and hid my smile behind my hand.
“I think a woman would know how to cry like a woman better than he would.”
I jumped at the sound of the low voice coming from right over my shoulder.
Spinning around, I found myself face-to-face with Glenn.
He angled his chin toward the set and slanted a look at me. “What do you think? You figure Florence already knows how to cry?”
I had to laugh. “I think she can figure it out.” The tears had looked real enough to me. “I guess the director doesn’t want anybody telling him how to do his job, though.”
Glenn snorted. “Watch this.”
I wasn’t so sure I wanted to, but I rested my elbow against the wall as he strolled past me to the center of the set, waiting until one by one, people took notice.
When Florence went still, a blush coloring her pretty face, he nodded at her and said, “I think you’re doing amazing, Florence. I’m choking up just watching you.”
“Thank you, Glenn.”
The director saw him and beamed. “Glenn! I can’t tell you how happy we are to have you on board here.” He came toward the other man, hand outstretched.
“I still haven’t read any lines. Don’t go pouring any champagne yet.” Glenn gave the director a quick handshake, then nodded at Florence. “I think she’s got it nailed. Too much more and it’s going to look forced. Maybe try it again and see?”
A few minutes later the director was nodding slowly. “Yes, yes…I think you’re right. We don’t want anybody thinking she’s overacting.” He chuckled and added, “It’s drama, of course, but we don’t want it overdramatic.”
“Right.” Glenn nodded at Florence then came back to stand by me.
“What was that supposed to prove? That a guy can get another guy to listen, but a woman can’t?” I asked, eying him narrowly.
He looked caught off-guard. “That…I wasn’t…” He scowled. “I was trying to get him to see that she already had it nailed.”
I felt foolish and wrapped my arms around myself. I was looking at him, at Florence, at this entire world through the lenses of a woman who’d been born in a whole other time. We’d had a black president. Women were in the House and in the Senate. We had equal rights. Gay people could marry.
But that was another century. Another millennium.
Right now…?
I looked around and didn’t see a single black person around me.
The only person who had any color to their skin was me, and I could easily pass for somebody who’d just gotten some sun at the beach—and right now, that was probably a good thing.
I suddenly wished I’d paid more attention in history class when we’d covered the Civil Rights movement. And Women’s Lib. And, well, anything, really.
“What’s wrong?” he asked softly.
“Nothing.” I shook my head and focused on Florence. There was no way to tell him how out of place I felt, how strange everything was.
“Glenn!”
The sound of Florence’s voice had me stiffening. I forcibly relaxed my spine and put a smile in place as Florence came rushing over.
She gave me a quick hug, then turned to Glenn. “I’m so happy that you’ll be working on the movie with me.”
He nodded at her, his eyes slipping past her to roam over the set. “You’re perfect for the part, Florence. It’s going to be a good movie.”
“I know…I think this is going to take both of us to new places.” She waited a second to see if he’d say something, but he just offered a short nod, so she turned to me. The smile in her eyes had dimmed, but I could tell she was trying not to show what she was feeling. “How are you enjoying your first day on set?”
“Well…” I drew it out, giving her a weak smile.
“I told you.” She shook her head in commiseration, then turned back to Glenn. The smile on her face was determined. “Glenn, why don’t we go talk to the director and go over some things?”
He looked like he wanted to do anything but that, but the director caught sight of them and called their names.
As they walked off, I turned away. A door marked exit caught my eye, and I headed toward it. I wanted a breath of fresh air, and I wanted to get out of here—even if it was only for a few minutes.
Twelve
Glenn
The director and a producer were both staring at me like I was some sort of fish swimming around a bowl. A very small bowl.
“We might as well,” Florence said.
I’d spent the past half hour tucked away in a small office, studying lines from a script they’d given me, one scene in particular. They’d told me they’d have me do a reading for them, but now they were asking me to do a scene with Florence instead.
The good news was it was the scene right after the one I’d studied. I’d read it, too, curious, so I had it mostly memorized.
She laughed, looking a little nervous as she glanced over to where the others were watching us. “Are you ready to do this?”
I blew out a breath. So much for a quick, easy reading, then waiting to hear back what they thought.
No, they just wanted to throw me right into it and see what happened. They wanted to see if I had chemistry with Florence.
“Like you said,” I told her with a tight smile. “We might as well.”
I checked the script once more, made sure I had the lines down, then put it on the table. The set was done up to look like a kitchen. It wasn’t completed, but there was still another week before shooting. The table looked like the kind you’d find in any number of homes, especially an old farmhouse. A bowl of fake fruit sat there, and the sight of overly bright red apples reminded me that I hadn’t eaten anything.
As the pages settled, the director called out, “I want the whole scene.”
“I know.” I focused on Florence.
She glanced at the script. “You’ve got a number of lines.”
“I know.” I offered my hand. “Let’s do this.”
She put her hand in mine.
“You’re going to fall in love again.” The first line to the scene.
Florence blinked and immediately, her face took on a dewy, forlorn expression. “No, Sebastien…no. I don’t think I ever will. Michael was my whole heart, and now he’s gone. My heart went with him.”
“No…your heart is broken, but it’s still there.” I moved closer and tucked my index finger under her chin,
raising her face to mine. “You’re broken and grieving right now. But you’ll wake up one day…”
We went through the scene once, and then again. When we were finished with the second time, we both turned and looked at the director and producer. The director, a small, mousey-looking man by the name of Kurt Thornton, started clapping his hands delightedly.
“Perfect.” He started for the set. “Absolutely perfect. How did you memorize those lines so fast?”
I hitched up a shoulder in a shrug.
The producer, one Scott Watson, remained seated, and Kurt turned to look at him. “What do you think?”
Scott didn’t speak, but he offered a small, pleased smile and a nod.
We did it one more time, then he told me to go to wardrobe and get measured.
Yeah, yeah. I’d do that.
But I needed a breath of fresh air first.
It was hotter than hell under the lights, and I had a headache.
Finding the nearest exit door, I slid outside and placed my back to the wall, staring off at nothing.
My heart was pounding.
My hands were sweating.
I was nervous, I realized.
And my head was killing me. The rough brick at my back was hot, the sun even hotter, and none of that was helping the headache—but I wasn’t ready to go back inside yet.
I’d been up too late the past night. Had too much to drink.
I definitely hadn’t been planning on coming in to audition for a role in a new movie.
I could use another twelve hours horizontal and some aspirin for my headache. Maybe some food.
And coffee.
I could, at the very least, get some food and coffee, maybe even some aspirin, inside.
That in mind, I shoved off the wall.
Just as I went to open the door to go back inside, I heard a woman’s voice—her furious voice.
I paused, listening.
It came again and the words were very clear.
“Let me go, you son of a bitch!”
I took off running.
Rounding the corner, I came to a stumbling stop, frozen. That lasted all of a second as my brain took in what I was seeing.
Then, as rage settled in, I lunged forward and grabbed the man who’d put his hands on Maya.
His nose was bleeding already—I took note of that, realizing she must have punched him, and I couldn’t help but feel some pride even as I spun him around and drove my fist into his gut. He doubled over in surprise and I took advantage of that, slamming my elbow into the back of his head.
He crumpled and hit the ground, hard.
Breathing heavy, I looked at Maya.
She was panting as well, clearly shaken.
Her eyes were glassy as she looked at me and I reached out, caught her arm, and drew her to me.
“Are you okay?” I asked urgently. She was pale, and her mouth was trembling.
I wanted to grab the bastard from the ground and beat him all over again.
“I…” She stopped and licked her lips.
I couldn’t stop myself. I found my gaze dropping down to her mouth. Guilt slammed into me and immediately, I jerked my eyes back to meet hers.
“I’m fine,” she whispered. She bit her lip, then looked at my mouth.
“That’s not a good idea,” I said roughly. But I also stroked my thumb across the inside of her arm.
“What isn’t?”
“Looking at me like that. It’s just a bad an idea as this.”
Her mouth parted and heat flooded her eyes. “As what?”
“This.”
It was stupid. It was crazy. The man who’d grabbed her was still lying unconscious at my feet. And still, I reached up and cupped her cheek. Her eyes fluttered closed.
“This,” I said again. Right before I kissed her.
Her mouth was soft and supple, and she opened her lips on a sigh.
I’d kissed women before who hadn’t known what to do. I’d kissed women who had responded almost like they wanted to eat me alive. I’d kissed women who had just stood there and let me do everything, clearly enjoying it, but not willing to go all in with me.
Kissing Maya wasn’t like that.
She reached up and curled her hand into the front of my shirt, tugging me closer as she rose onto her toes.
Her head fell back and a soft moan escaped her.
Then, her tongue slid out to rub against mine, tasting me as surely as I tasted her.
That taste was one that I’d remember, one I’d crave in the darkest nights.
Tangling my free hand in her hair, I nudged her backward until she was braced against the brick wall behind her. Then, slowly, I leaned into her, letting her take my weight and enjoying the feel of her slender body against mine. She wiggled a bit, sending all sorts of jolts of sensations through me. My cock jerked in response, and that elicited another moan from her.
Letting go of her chin, I slid my hand down and cupped her hip, tugging her against me.
She shivered.
I wanted to get us someplace private.
I wanted to get her naked.
I wanted to get inside her.
Now.
Thirteen
Maya
I’ve read about this sort of thing before.
Lights going off.
Fireworks exploding.
An instant, soul-searing connection.
I’d always rolled my eyes and written it off.
But as Glenn’s tongue licked into my mouth, as his hand slid down my back, aligning my curves to the hard, muscled planes of his body, I saw lights explode behind my eyes. Fireworks went off.
I felt a connection that was unlike anything I’d ever felt.
And more.
My heart was about ready to leap right out of my body.
My body was ready to do whatever he wanted, wherever he wanted, however he wanted.
It didn’t matter that there was a man lying at my feet, or that my fist throbbed from where I’d punched him in the nose, or that he’d grabbed me and tried to kiss me—and who knew else what.
All that mattered was the feel of Glenn’s hands on me and his mouth on mine.
He rocked his hips forward and pleasure burned in my veins, stronger and sweeter than any drug I’d ever touched, making me lightheaded.
Then, as everything in me clamored for more, he slid his hand on my hip up, the heel brushing against the outer curve of my breast.
Yes…I thought. Please…
In the back of my mind, though, a small voice whispered, What are you doing?
Shut up! I shouted at the voice.
What about Florence?
What about…
Shit.
I slid my hands between us.
His chest was hot through his T-shirt, and I could feel his heart racing, pounding every bit as hard as mine.
I wanted to push his shirt up and feel every inch of his skin. He was lean and long, and I wanted to learn his entire body with my hands. My mouth.
But I couldn’t.
“Stop,” I whispered, turning my face from his.
His mouth slid to my ear, and I heard him murmur my name. The sound of his voice, raspy and rough, almost broke me.
“Stop,” I said again, louder, pushing him back.
He tensed. “Maya?”
“We have to…Glenn, we can’t.” It hurt like hell to say those words, and it hurt even more to push him away from me—but I did it.
He let me go almost reluctantly, and when he was a few feet away, I smoothed nervous hands down my clothes.
A low moan came from the man down by our feet. I gave him a scathing look as he rolled onto his hands and knees, then lurched upward. He caught sight of me first and his face folded into an ugly scowl. “You fuckin bit—”
“Watch it,” Glenn said, catching him from behind with his arm around his neck.
The man was shorter than Glenn by several inches, and all Glenn had to do to pick him up was st
raighten to his full height. The man dangled, his feet kicking, and I gaped at them both, dismayed.
“You want to apologize to her, you hear me?”
The man was going red in the face. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
Slowly, Glenn lowered him back down, but he didn’t loosen the hold enough for the man to break free. It didn’t stop the guy from running his mouth though.
“Fuck, she was flirting with me, man. How was I supposed to know you two had a—”
Moving so fast it left my head spinning, Glenn drove a fist into the man’s kidney. Then he jerked him upright again.
I didn’t feel sorry for the guy. He’d grabbed me, slammed me against the wall and tried to kiss me. I’d slammed my foot down on his insole—exactly as I’d learned in a self-defense class—and he’d let me go, but only for a moment. Then I’d plowed my fist into his nose. After what he’d done, I didn’t feel bad to see him getting his ass handed to him at all.
But Glenn was brutally fast, and strong, and it was…mind-boggling. He was definitely not just a pretty face on the big screen.
“You’re going to apologize this time—to her. And if you don’t do it, I’m going to beat you into a bloody, broken pulp.” He said the words with such utter calm, it was more than a little scary.
“Sorry.”
Apparently, my would-be molester thought so, too.
He stared at me with wide eyes, sputtering the word out a second time. “Ma’am, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I won’t ever—”
Glenn let him go and shoved him in the back, hard. “Get the hell out of here. Now. And don’t ever let me see you around the set again.”
“I…sir, I work here.”
Glenn glowered at him. “Not on this set you don’t. I see you again, I’ll beat you senseless. Don’t try me.”
The man was gone without another word.
Glenn took a step toward me, eyes hot and intense.
“Don’t,” I said, holding up my hands. “We can’t.” He opened his mouth, but I cut him off. “I can’t do this to Florence. I hope you understand.”
