The Monday Girl (The Girl Duet #1)

by Julie Johnson

  He’s silent for a long time. I start to think he’s not going to reply, but then he shifts a bit closer and his mouth moves, forming words I feel against my skin before they ever reach my ears.

  “When we first met? You weren’t a bitch at all. You were wearing purple overalls and braided pigtails.”

  My heart stops beating.

  He remembers.

  “You had the prettiest eyes I’d ever seen. So blue. So full of fire. Even back then, you had more passion in your pinky finger than most people ever muster up in their entire lives.” He chuckles lowly. “Nine years old, and you could’ve conquered the whole damn world, given half a chance.”

  I’ve stopped breathing entirely.

  “I remember looking at you and thinking, shit , if she’s like this now, what’s she going to be like when she’s grown up?” He shifts closer still, voice going gentle. “I’m so damn happy I got to find out, Kat.”

  My eyes are burning, my throat is closing, and I’m having trouble formulating thoughts, let alone words. So I do the only thing I can — I shift onto my side, cheek pillowed on my arms, fingers digging into the sand. He’s right there, a millimeter away, his gorgeous face backlit by the fire, which is slowly collapsing into ashes as we lie here, staring at each other. His eyes are warmer than the flame.

  “You remember,” I say in a choked voice.

  “Or course I remember,” he says softly. “How could I ever forget you?”

  “Then why?” I demand.

  “Why what?”

  “Why did you pretend not to know me, that first day at Sloan’s? Why didn’t you say anything, all this time?”

  His eyes move over my features like a caress. “I thought, after all the shit that went down with Helena, if I said we had a history — even one as innocent as child co-stars for a short-run season on a crap daytime TV show — Sloan would never give you the part.” He pauses. “And I wanted you in this movie with me, Kat. As soon as I saw you that day… I knew I couldn’t fuck it up, no matter what. So, I kept my mouth shut.”

  “Oh.” My voice cracks.

  All this time, I’ve been so angry he pretended not to recognize me… I never stopped to consider he might’ve had a good reason.

  His mouth twitches. “It wasn’t entirely selfless. I didn’t necessarily want to admit I remembered what I did to you, back when we were kids.”

  I groan. “I was hoping you’d actually forgotten that part.”

  “Kat.” He puts a hand over his heart and leans closer, voice intent. “A boy never forgets his first love letter.”

  I roll onto my back, creating some much needed space between us. “That’s really unfortunate for me.”

  “Dear Grayson, I think U R 2 cool ,” he recites in falsetto. “If U think I’m cool 2— ”

  “Stop!” I look away from him, so he won’t see the way my cheeks are flaming.

  “Did I embarrass you?”

  “Back then, or right now?”

  “Then. Now. Both.”

  “No,” I lie. “Not embarrassed at all.”

  “I never thought I’d see the day!” He sounds even more smug than usual. “Kat Firestone is actually blushing!”

  “I am not. It’s warm by the fire, that’s all.”

  “Uh huh.” He sighs happily. “You know, we’re scheduled to film sex scenes next week. If you can’t even relive an innocent childhood declaration of love without blushing, how are you ever going to get through several hours of pressing your naked body against mine, while an entire crew of filmmakers looks on?”

  My heart pounds a bit faster at the visual created by his words. I scramble up onto my feet, so I’m no longer breathing his air or sharing his space or staring into those distracting eyes, and stumble around to the other side of the fire pit. I feel infinitely safer with a red-hot pit of embers separating us.

  “What are you doing?” he calls, sitting up. I feel his eyes tracking my every move through the night, a nocturnal predator stalking clumsy prey.

  “I’m getting more firewood,” I lie, wandering down the beach toward the water on unsteady feet. The closer I get, the damper the sand beneath my toes. I don’t stop until I’m ankle deep in the dark waves. Pulling in a deep breath, I wrap my arms around my body as if it’ll somehow keep all the dangerous feelings stirring inside me contained. An emotional straight jacket.

  It doesn’t help.

  Despite my stupid self-protective rules, despite the fact that I know he’s all wrong for me, despite the knowledge that he’s even more of a cynical mess than I am… Grayson Dunn is in my head. He’s under my skin. He’s invaded me like a deadly disease and hijacked my immune system until I don’t even bother fighting it anymore. I look at him, and I’m twisted into knots. Tangled into a messy spool of desire and desperation.

  I want his lips on mine, not because of some script.

  I want his hands touching me, not on the orders of some director.

  I want his eyes burning me alive, not for the cameras or the crowds.

  I don’t want a co-star.

  I don’t want a character.

  I don’t want Beck .

  I want him.

  I feel him behind me before he announces his presence. The hair on my neck rises and I simply know he’s there, standing five feet away, as though I’ve somehow summoned him with my thoughts. He doesn’t make a sound, doesn’t speak a word. But somehow, I know.

  My shoulders stiffen, the arms crossed around my chest tighten as I struggle to keep myself staring out at the dark water instead of turning to him and saying all the things I’m dying to express. My battle for control intensifies when he steps into the water. Into my space.

  His front comes up against my back, a warm wall of heat. His hands slide around my waist so gently it’s almost like he’s afraid to touch me. As though he thinks, if he moves too fast, I’ll slip beneath the surface like a mermaid and disappear forever.

  The thin fabric of my long-sleeved t-shirt is little protection against his touch. One graze of his palms and I’m already shaking.

  “Kat,” he whispers, his mouth descending to land on my neck. The feel of his lips against my skin sets off an explosion inside me, frazzling my nerve endings like I’ve been electrocuted. Powerless to stop myself, I arch back into him, neck craning to give him more room as he trails kisses down the column of my throat. He presses closer, hands gripping the fabric of my shirt to anchor me against him. I hear the thundering of my pulse roaring inside my head, somewhere beneath the deep tide of alcohol and attraction drowning my senses.

  Stop, stop, stop!

  My remaining bits of self-preservation are screaming at me, but I don’t heed them. I’m lost — swimming in sensation. He plants a kiss in the hollow just below my ear and a needy, breathless sound escapes me before I can stop it. Grayson hears it and goes still, his grip tightening almost violently against my hips.

  “Tell me to stop,” he growls, mouth moving against my shoulder. I feel a graze of teeth and I shudder. “Tell me to walk away.”

  I clear my throat, close my eyes, and gather all my self-control.

  “Stop,” I whisper into the dark, so faintly it sounds like a prayer. “Walk away.”

  I’m not sure what’s worse — the thought that he’ll ignore my words, or the idea that he might actually heed them. His grip tightens again, until pleasure is teetering on the edge of pain, and I think, goddammit , he’s going to listen to me, going to turn and walk away before this forbidden spark ignites into an inferno we can’t take back…

  “Fuck that,” he mutters, spinning me around with rough hands. “I’ve been dying to do this for too long. I’m not going anywhere.”

  I don’t have a chance to respond. His mouth hits mine with such force it steals my breath, and then he’s kissing me.

  Grayson Dunn is kissing me.

  His kiss is hard. Unfamiliar. Almost angry.

  His big hands come up to cup my cheeks, holding me captive — as if I’d ever be te
mpted to pull away. His mouth dominates mine. I’m not his to own, but he conquers me anyway.

  Domineering. Demanding.

  I can't breathe, can't even properly kiss him back. I just cling to his shoulders and let him wreck me, one tongue stroke at a time, until my head is spinning and my heart is pounding against my ribs like a mallet on a drum. The world falls away — the splash of the ocean at my feet, the warmth of the breeze against my skin, the sight of the stars over my head. All that’s left is him. His lips. My lips. This moment.

  This kiss.

  This kiss ruins me for all other kisses. In the space of a second, he obliterates every other man who’s ever put his mouth on mine. All the boys who came before are a pale imitation of this passion.

  My mouth opens under his, our tongues brush, and I feel the ferocity of his response in the grip of his hands against my cheeks, the way his fingers dig into my jawline and his body presses up against mine. For a dazed, deluded instant, I think he’s going to throw me down in the sand and fuck me into oblivion with the waves crashing over us, like some shadowy imitation of From Here To Eternity .

  Thankfully, he’s still clinging to his sanity, even if mine has fled on the wind. With a groan of self-restraint, he tears his mouth away. I’m shaking in his arms. Trembling with heat and need and insane, insatiable hunger. His forehead comes down to rest against mine and I realize, for the first time, how much taller he is than me. If I were to step forward, I could tuck my face comfortably in the crook of his neck and his chin could rest against the crown of my head.

  A perfect fit.

  We’re both breathing too hard. My pulse is pounding too fast. It takes a long moment for my thoughts to stop spinning, for reason to return, as we stare at each other, eyes locked.

  Who is this man, who owns me so completely, so effortlessly, so unreasonably?

  Friend, enemy, co-star, stranger, lover.

  I cannot sort him out any more than I can decipher my feelings for him.

  “We shouldn’t have done that,” I whisper eventually, when I can speak again.

  I watch his lips curl into a grin. “I had to do it at least once, for real. Before it’s staged for the cameras, scripted for Sloan… I had to know what it would be like.”

  There’s an unfamiliar tightness in my chest. I can’t quite catch my breath.

  “Just once,” he murmurs again. I’m not sure if he’s trying to convince me or himself.

  “Just once,” I echo, a thread of disappointment weaving its way through me.

  “Come on. It’s late. We should get some sleep.” His lips brush mine softly, a ghost of his earlier passion. “I’ll walk you to your door.”

  I feel my brows lift in surprise. “Such a gentleman.”

  “Don’t look at me like that,” he warns.

  I blink innocently. “Like what?”

  “Like you’d like me to be less of a gentleman.”

  I grin. “I’m just surprised. Grayson Dunn — an unlikely source of chivalry.”

  “Trust me,” he murmurs, stepping back carefully. “It’s taking all my self-control to walk you to your door and say goodnight without laying another finger on you. I’d like nothing more than to carry you into my bed and hold you captive for the next few days. But…” He runs his free hand through his hair. “We have to be on set in about three hours. And the things I’d like to do with you would take a fuck of a lot more time than that, Kat.”

  My thighs clench together as a bolt of desire shoots through me.

  “Oh,” I whisper breathlessly.

  His hand laces with mine and he leads me slowly up the beach toward the dark row of bungalows. “I meant what I said, before. I don’t want to fuck up this movie. This project means a lot to me.”

  “I know,” I murmur. “It means a lot to me, too.”

  He nods. “It has to come first. Before anything else. Before you and me.”

  We reach the door to my villa. I see the tension brewing inside him like an electrical storm, just below the surface — desire, restraint, worry, longing, need, fear. His deep eyes are, for once, totally unguarded. Or, maybe I’m just getting better at reading him.

  I unlace my hand from his and take a cautious step back.

  “Don’t worry, Dunn. I’m not going to get all clingy and needy and start doodling your name in the margins of my script.”

  His crooked grin returns. “I already have one love note from you that suggests otherwise.”

  “Hey! Don’t use my embarrassing childhood memories against me.” I smack him on the arm. “That was low.”

  He laughs. “But true.”

  “Well, it won’t be happening again.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “It was one kiss,” I say rolling my eyes. “Get over yourself.”

  His gaze captures mine. “It was a pretty fucking great kiss.”

  I clear my throat and break eye contact. Staring at his forehead instead, I try to smile as I reach out and brush a flyaway strand of dark hair off his face.

  “Night, Grayson. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  I turn and slip inside my villa, closing the door just after his soft whisper slips through the crack.

  “Goodnight, Kat.”

  Twelve

  “ H e’s really … funny.”

  - A girl who thinks you’re cute, but not cute enough to date.

  “ D on’t you walk away from me!” I shout, stalking after him. My feet kick up sand and my arms shove against his back with as much force as I can muster. “This conversation isn’t over.”

  “It is.”

  “How can you say that?” I cry, palms striking the broad planes of his back again. “How can you pretend you aren’t feeling this too?”

  He spins around and catches my fists in his grasp, before I can do any more damage. His green eyes burn like fire.

  “I feel it. Of course I feel it. But there are things you don’t know. Things that could change everything.”

  “Nothing could change how I feel about you,” I whisper brokenly. “I want you. I need you. I love—”

  “Don’t!” He yells, shaking me. “Don’t say it.”

  My eyes narrow and my volume only increases, until my words ring out on the abandoned stretch of beach like a battle cry.

  “I love you, damn it! And I refuse to stop!”

  He clutches at my shoulders with a brutal grip, as if not sure whether to tear me to pieces or pull me into his arms. “You have to stop,” he growls. “You have no choice.”

  “Why? How?” I blink back tears. “I could sooner stop breathing! I could more easily pull the clouds down from the sky!”

  His yell is heart-rending. I hear the sorrow in his voice, the conflict, the pain and passion as his words slice through the air between us like a knife strike.

  “Because I’m already married!” he roars, shaking me again. “Don’t you understand? I said vows , I made promises … just because I’m here with you… it doesn’t change that. Doesn’t erase it.”

  I feel my heart splinter inside my chest, breaking into irreparable pieces as his words wash through me in a tidal wave of despair. His hands hold my shoulders tighter, his face comes so close I think he’s surely going to kiss me, even though it’s forbidden, even though we shouldn’t…

  “And CUT !”

  Sloan’s voice fractures the moment.

  I suck in a startled gasp of air and take a hasty step back from Grayson as soon as his hands drop away. My heart is hammering at twice its normal speed. It takes longer than it should to shake off the emotional turmoil of the scene, still swirling around inside me like a tornado.

  “All right, folks, that was a definite improvement from last time.” Sloan plants his hands on his hips, rocks back on his heels, and surveys the beach with speculative eyes. “We’ll go again in a few minutes — I want to change cameras, get some wide-angle shots from up by the tree line.” He mutters something under his breath, then looks up again. “Oh, and Dunn, for
the record, that line is because I have a wife at home not because I’m already married . That’s the second time you’ve fudged it.”

  “Got it, boss,” Grayson calls in a carefree voice, walking to the break tent and grabbing a piece of pineapple from the spread of refreshments and snacks on the table. The hotel staff have assembled a small, shady refuge for the cast and crew to get out of the sun between takes; it’s stocked with so much food you’d think there were fifty people working on this film instead of fifteen.

  Grayson throws his body into a chair by one of the large rotating fans and tosses the fruit into his mouth. He’s the picture of relaxation as he strikes up a conversation with Trey, laughing about something I can’t hear from here.

  I don’t know how he can be so unaffected. My presence-of-mind is hanging by rapidly-thinning thread, after running that intense scene between Violet and Beck three times in a row.

  A water bottle appears in front of my face. I follow the tanned brown fingers up a muscular arm and find myself staring into Wyatt’s chiseled features.

  “Here.” His eyes narrow on mine as he presses the bottle into my hands. “Hydrate. It’s about a hundred degrees out here.”

  With a grateful nod, I take the water and chug it down. “Thanks.”

  “Let’s get you in the shade,” Wyatt says, heading toward the tent area. “You’re looking a little crispy around the edges.”

  I roll my eyes as I fall into step beside him.

  When we reach the tent, I spot Harper sitting on the far side with the other makeup artist, Cassie, looking dour as the girl drones on about something — blending brush brands or shading techniques or the proper way to apply fake abrasions so they look like a genuine wound. According to Harper, Cassie is incapable of making conversation about anything except work, which has left my best friend grumpy and starved for human interaction since we arrived in Hawaii last week.

  When she sees me collapse into the chair next to Wyatt’s, she excuses herself and bolts in our direction. She starts blotting my face with some kind of sponge as soon as she reaches me.