Hours later, as sunlight filtered through the curtains, she woke. Propping her head in her hand she watched him sleep. He lay on his stomach, and she admired the fine contours of his back and his smooth tanned skin. She lifted the duvet and peeked. He had a beautifully curved ass.
As if he sensed she watched him, he opened his eyes and rolled over with a grin. “What were you doing?”
She giggled. “Just admiring the scenery.”
He tossed off the duvet. “You like what you see?”
“I would be very hard to please if I didn’t. A million women would love to be here in my place.”
“I can’t complain. You look beautiful first thing in the morning.”
“Rose colored glasses,” she said with a smile.
He shook his head slowly as passion sparked in his eyes, and corresponding desire quickened her breath.
He pulled her on top of him, and she lay there, her body contoured to his, feeling his cock nudging that sensitive part of her. She reached down and took hold of it, circling and stroking. She loved the feel of him, hard and soft, straining against her fingers. Loved to watch raw passion turn his eyes dark blue. She grew moist and hot between her legs wanting him.
“That’s very nice,” he said in a strained voice.
She angled his cock inside her and began to move slowly. It felt so good, she moaned.
He cupped her breasts, thumbing her nipples, the pleasure intensifying.
“Oh, that’s…” She threw back her head as the pace increased along with the pleasure. When he stroked the hardened nub of her clit, she rode him faster. He grasped her bottom and thrust up to meet her, their passion building.
Dylan rolled her over and entered her from behind. The feeling built again, so intense and exquisite she almost couldn’t bear it and yelled in her own language as she came again.
He hauled in a breath and came. “How am I going to live without you in my bed every night?” he murmured.
She briefly wondered the same thing, but firmly pushed it away. Suffering from a very pleasant kind of exhaustion, she settled down in his arms and slept again.
Astrid’s phone woke them. Astrid leapt from the bed, pulling the sheet with her to cover herself.
“Don’t hide yourself,” Dylan complained, as she staggered over to her phone. He settled against the pillows his hands behind his head to watch her.
She spoke briefly then hung up. “It’s the studio, they need me in costume. Some alterations need to be made.”
Dylan rose and stretched, completely at home with his nakedness. Astrid admired his naturalness, she admired every inch of him remembering the delight they’d shared. It made her grow hot again. She was insatiable. As if she’d stored up passion for years and now, like a dam it had broken free. She bit her lip. How could she ever leave him?
As if Dylan read her thoughts he moved toward her, determination in his eyes. His phone burst into life. He picked it up. “The studio with the same message.” He came to kiss her with a sigh of regret. “Shall we go together?”
“Better not,” she said quickly.
He studied her. “Are we still keeping this quiet?”
“Oui.” She crossed to the wardrobe and took out her robe.
Dylan pulled on his boxer shorts. “You spoke to Philippe last night?”
She turned to face him. “I did.”
“Do you plan to tell me what was said?”
“He saw us on the news. He’s upset, naturally.”
“And did you tell him of your plans?”
“No. Nothing definite.”
He swung away from her, frustrated. “Why the devil not?”
“It’s hard for me to explain. Ending this relationship requires something more than a phone call, Dylan. We have a life together in Paris.” She held out her hands, palms up. “I need time to think.”
“I don’t like it when you think too much, Astrid. You’re apt to talk yourself out of something special.”
“I’m being too rational?”
“I suspect you can be.”
“Well, maybe you allow your emotions to cloud your thinking,” she snapped, afraid he would attempt to control her as Philippe did.
He slid his arms around her. “Let’s not quarrel. Would you like me to move in here until the picture is finished?”
“That isn’t necessary, Dylan. I’ll be fine.” She waited, expecting him to argue.
Dylan began to dress. “Let me know if you change your mind.”
Her phone rang again. She picked it up to a barrage of French.
From the doorway, Dylan gestured that he would go home and change.
Astrid blew him a kiss. Grateful to him for understanding, she spoke rapidly as the front door slammed, and consumed with guilty pleasure attempted to appease Philippe. She wanted to be honest and would be, but not now. She hated hurting him.
* * *
In the afternoon, she met Dylan at the studio restaurant. It was busy, filled with well-known faces, the buzz of conversation and laughter from glamorous and witty people infectious. Astrid and Dylan stopped at several tables before they reached their own.
Once they had a quiet moment to themselves, Astrid attempted to explain to Dylan what she’d decided. She’d thought of little else since they were together. Breaking off with Philippe needed time, and she had to do it in a way that was fair. She needed time to think clearly about Dylan too. She was only too aware that rebound romances seldom lasted.
“You want to live alone in Paris?”
She anxiously watched his expressive face, surprise gave way to disappointment, as he struggled to understand her feelings. “Where do I fit into this?”
She drew in a breath her shoulders tense. She should have waited until they were alone. Stupid to think he’d accept her decision without an argument. “What happens when you’re working in another part of the world for months on end?” she said in a low voice. “How many relationships in this business fail? It’s even harder when there’s a family to consider.”
Dylan frowned. “You don’t even want to try?”
Antony and Jenny waved from the door, and made their way toward them. “Can’t we just enjoy what we have now?” Astrid said.
“I intend to change your mind.”
“You’re very sure of yourself.” Astrid could not share his optimism. She was a realist not a dreamer. She smiled a greeting as Jenny and Antony joined them at the table. Around the room, many women had their eye on Dylan. When they were separated through work, women like Jenny could catch him at a low moment, and some wouldn’t want to let him go. She couldn’t bear to be hurt, not that way. Not after watching her mother suffer through her father’s infidelities.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Dylan stretched out on his stomach on Astrid’s bed. She leaned back against the pillows, reading her lines aloud while admiring the curve of his ass in his tight, white jockey shorts.
He rolled over, naked beneath his open blue shirt. All her senses came alive when he was near. He had only to reach out and touch her and she was his. She’d never given all of herself to a man, not even Philippe and it unsettled her. Trying to control her growing passion, didn’t work. She only wanted him more.
“You may come anytime to view my father’s paintings, Mr. Dunleavy.” Astrid gestured where the scene required action.
Dylan prompted her. “I look forward to that, Giovanna.”
She reached the end of the scene, the thought of making love pushing everything from her mind. “Shall we go over it again?”
“Let’s not.” He grabbed her waist and pulled her down.
She snuggled against him. “We’ve been in bed all morning.”
“Have we? I hadn’t noticed.” He gave her a sleepy glance that set her pulse racing. “Funny, I don’t feel at all rested.”
“I’ve never spent the whole morning in bed with a man before.”
He grinned. “Neither have I.”
“Idiot.” Smil
ing, she swept the lock of hair off his brow and kissed his forehead, loving the feel of his skin and his male smell. “Maybe you should take a nap. A midday nap is good for one. The Mediterranean’s are very sensible in this way.”
He circled her wrists and held her hands above her head. “You want to sleep?”
She smiled and shook her head.
His tongue traced her upper lip. He nibbled at her bottom lip, then his tongue entered her mouth to dance with hers and her stomach clenched with desire. Had she ever felt such a rampant need for sex before? With Dylan it was like a drug. She could deny him nothing. Would she be able to walk away from him?
When he nuzzled her neck, she put a hand up to his cheek. “You haven’t shaved.” But she liked him with a shadowed jaw. It made him look tough. Like James Bond.
He nuzzled her again and she laughed and tried to push him away. “That’s torture. You’re a beast. I bet you were horrid to your sisters when you were a boy.”
“God, Astrid...” His eyes were filled with a deep longing as gazed down at her. It seemed as if he searched into her very soul. She held her breath.
Dylan suddenly moved away from her and sat up. Picking up a glass of water from the bedside table, he drank it down.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, perplexed by the sudden change in him.
“I was thinking about what Blair and Gina had. They were destined to be together. We have something similar don’t you think?”
“It’s too early to say, Dylan.” He didn’t mention love. But she knew he meant it.
He frowned. “This movie will be wrapped up soon. Then what?”
“Let’s wait and see, shall we?” She drew him down to her. “We should rehearse that love scene.”
He smiled and then brought his mouth down on hers, teasingly, probing, thrusting with his tongue, and moved down to gently nibble a taut nipple. She moaned and raked her fingers through his dark hair. His assault on her senses was overwhelming.
“We can’t do this on film.” She gave a laugh which turned into a moan.
He gave a slow, secret smile. “They can edit the explicit parts out.” He turned his attention to kissing her inner thigh. “Like this bit,” he said moving higher.
“Oh, you…oh, yes, don’t stop.”
***
The studio had been cleared for a love scene. In the bedroom set, Dylan Astrid lay together beneath a sheet. Practiced at making love, they knew how to arouse each other with just a touch, and it was hard for him to remember they were in front of the cameras and not go too far, even though they’d joked about it.
He’d heard a few actors had made love before the cameras, but he wouldn’t be one of them. He valued Astrid too highly to embarrass her in that way. But it grew more difficult, even with the director interjecting, spelling out his vision for the scene. He couldn’t help becoming aroused by this beautiful woman. He loved her, he knew it now. He hadn’t been able to tell her, because he didn’t think she was ready to hear it.
He just couldn’t see himself spending the rest of his life with anyone else. But he wasn’t confident he could win her. Astrid was far more conventional than he. She’d met Fabre when she was very young and been with him for years.
Dylan didn’t criticize the man to Astrid, although he didn’t like Fabre, believing him to be a manipulator par excellence. Astrid was loyal. She struggled to end their relationship. He knew better than to say anything against him. It would rebound on him. He had to win her with the sheer force of his love.
He gave a wry grin, the depressing thought of losing her put paid to his erection. Until Astrid took his face between her hands and kissed him, a teasing expression in her eyes as she slipped her tongue in his mouth.
“Vixen!” he whispered, too soft for anyone else to hear, and pulled her close, becoming lost to everyone and everything around them.
“Dylan,” she warned in his ear, no doubt with the feel of his erection pressing against her with only the usual small pieces of cloth to hide their modesty.
“Your fault my sweet,” he muttered with a wry grin.
As the scene progressed, it became almost unendurable. To have Astrid’s soft body in his arms beneath the silk sheets. He counted the minutes until he could get her away from here to his room and do the thing properly.
The word cut came just in time to save him supreme embarrassment. The wardrobe people rushed forward with their robes.
Phew!” he heard the boom guy say to one of technicians, “They’ll burn up the screen.”
The cameramen and technicians were busy with their equipment, and the few crew allowed in, left the set. Astrid ran a finger over his bottom lip. “Naughty,” she said with a grin.
He gazed around to find them alone and slid a hand between her legs beneath her robe.
“I intend to show you just how naughty I can be.”
She giggled and slapped his hand away.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Astrid dressed quickly. She and Dylan were going to Richmond for lunch and a stroll in the park. It was one of her favorite places in England. She loved to sit by the river.
She crossed the hall and after a quick knock opened his door.
Dylan stood with a towel around his waist. He had his arms around Jenny and stroked her back.
Pain struck at Astrid’s chest sucking the air from her lungs. She whirled around and hurried out the door.
She shut her door, and paced, struggling to breathe. Her chest hurt as she made wild plans to flee, only to tear them down. Sobering, she’d knew she had to stay, but would pack up and leave England as soon as the movie wrapped.
Ten minutes later, her door banged open. Dylan strode in swiping his wet hair back from his forehead. He’d changed into jeans and a t-shirt. “What was that about?”
“It is usual for you to receive women in your room wearing a towel?” She was glad her voice sounded unaffected even though she wanted to fly at him.
“Don’t act like a narrow-minded Frenchwoman, Astrid. It doesn’t suit you.”
“Oh, I forgot. Jenny is well acquainted with you naked, isn’t she?”
Dylan blinked. “Touché.” He folded his arms. “But you really shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Jenny just told me she and Angus have broken up.”
“So she rushed to you for comfort.”
She hated to see disappointment in his gaze. “You might feel for Jenny,” he said. “She’s broken-hearted. She loves Angus.”
“She loves him?” Jenny always seemed so lighthearted about romance. Astrid felt remorseful. She’d been too focused on her own problems to see Jenny’s distress.
He raised an eyebrow. “She came to me for advice.”
“How could you help her?”
“You don’t think I’m the right person to advise her? You might be right, Astrid. I’ve prostrated myself before a woman who doesn’t want me in her future.”
Astrid wanted to scream at the dull ache in her chest. She’d never wished for this kind of love. As wonderful as it was, it brought with it uncertainty, vulnerability and pain. She’d wanted to be free, not tied to a man she loved too much. The prospect frightened her. She was not like her mother. She knew she couldn’t live like that.
“I told Jenny to reach a compromise,” Dylan said. “They couldn’t agree on where to live. He wants her to live in Edinburgh and she doesn’t, but I didn’t see that as a good reason to break up. It they love each other anything can be overcome.”
“Yes. If they love each other,” Astrid said aware of the unspoken plea beneath his words. “Surely they can work it out.”
“Silly woman.” Dylan ran a gentle finger over her cheek. The gesture made her tense muscles loosen. She sighed and placed her arms around his neck.
“I’ll speak to Jenny.” She nuzzled his shoulder.
He stoked her hair. “You don’t trust easily do you, Astrid.”
“I suppose I don’t.”
He took her hands and drew her toward the do
or. “Come on, let’s go to Richmond. We can have a coffee by the river.”
***
The film was in post-production. All the hard work and disagreements melted away as the cast and crew mingled at the launch party. Astrid prepared to leave. She did the rounds to say goodbye. Dylan was doing the same, slapping people on the back and laughing. He had such an irresistible dynamic vitality. Knowing he would soon follow her to the cottage, she fought to impose an iron control on herself to get through the next few hours.
Jenny Lane came up to give her a hug. “It’s been great working with you.”
“And you. I hope we work together again soon.”
Antony offered Astrid a glass of wine. She shook her head. “I’m on my way home.”
“Great to have the film in the can,” Mike said.
She smiled at him. He seemed to get more out of this than anyone. It wasn’t work for him, and he suffered none of the pressures that went with it.
“I read in The Guardian that one of Russo’s paintings fetched a million pounds at Sotheby’s,” Antony said. “All grist to the mill!”
Astrid nodded. Publicity for the film was very welcome.
“Pity Russo didn’t paint more, but his paintings are considered masterpieces and have left a great legacy,” Mike observed.
“Perhaps you’d like to buy one?” Astrid kidded him.
“If only I had the money,” he said. “Maybe if the movie does well, eh?”
“I love it that Blair and Gina had such a long, happy marriage,” Astrid couldn’t help adding. It was unlikely to interest either of the men, but she found their love affair inspiring.
“Pity the movie didn’t touch more on how Blair became a force for change in the Irish Government,” Antony continued, warming to his theme. “Fighting as he did for Irish independence and better conditions for workers.”
“Nah. Gina’s the story,” Mike broke in. “As the face of Pear’s Soap, she graced billboards and railway stations everywhere. One of the first supermodels.”
Diary of a Painted Lady Page 19
