by Cindy Dees
“Hey, Tyrone, how do I rate the star treatment from a fancy makeup artist like you?”
He laughed and commenced turning all her exposed skin green. “I’m not too proud to do grunt work, girlfriend.” He worked in silence for a minute and then murmured, “So why are you already green before I’ve started putting makeup on you, hon?”
She sighed. He had a reputation for being freakishly observant. It probably came from studying human faces in minute detail all day long. “I’m not feeling great this morning.”
“You don’t look hungover. Eyes aren’t bloodshot enough. Did you catch the stomach flu that’s going around?”
“Yeah. That must be it. Or maybe I ate something weird last night. I did have seafood.” It was a lie, but no way was she admitting to him that she was pregnant with Jackson’s baby.
Tyrone nodded, but doubt lingered in the guy’s dark eyes. Entirely too observant, he was.
“Okay, sweetie. You’re all done. Take care, and I’m here if you want to talk.”
Ana smiled her thanks weakly. She dared not dwell on the makeup artist’s kindness, or she’d cry for sure. She made her way over to the green stage. Jackson was already there, looking better than any man had a right to, wearing a full-body leotard that was entirely too informative about his physique. The guy didn’t carry one spare pound anywhere on his muscular, fit frame, and it showed in the suit.
A bevy of girl extra wannabes giggled off to one side and seemed to be enjoying the sight of Jackson far too much for Ana’s peace of mind. But, hey, it wasn’t like she had any say in who ogled him. He was just the boss...
...and the father of your freaking baby.
She was really getting tired of that little voice in the back of her head editorializing about everything having to do with him.
Jackson turned around as she stepped out onto the mat. He looked grim as hell beneath his covering of green makeup and white polka dots. “How are you feeling today?” he asked quietly.
“I’ve been better,” she answered honestly.
“Is anything wrong with...you know?” he asked with concern.
“Nothing that a bunch of saltine crackers can’t cure,” she muttered back.
Comprehension lit his eyes. “Ah. Sorry. Wish I could be there to hold your hair out of the toilet.”
The sentiment startled her. He wanted to experience the joys of morning sickness? She had no time to examine her reaction to his statement, though, because Adrian stepped out onto the floor just then.
“Jackson, Ana, if you don’t mind, I’ve asked the young ladies who’ve gotten callbacks for the movie to observe your green-screen work today to get an idea of what will be expected of them if they get a role in the film.”
Like she was going to say no to the director. Personally, she wasn’t the least bit thrilled to have an audience. Getting through this scene was going to be hard enough already. How in the hell was she supposed to fake having happily-ever-after sex with Jackson in front of a bunch of giggling strangers?
Jackson didn’t look any more thrilled than her.
It dawned on her, though, that Adrian couldn’t possibly have missed the tension between her and Jackson. She would bet he’d arranged for an audience to keep the two of them behaving professionally and keep their minds off their personal problems.
Adrian walked over to the close-in camera, took a quick peek through the viewfinder and gave the lighting guys a thumbs-up. “Whenever you’re ready to go you two, let me know.”
Ana took a deep breath. She sat down in the lime-green forest glade setting that had been built for this shot. Jackson sat down beside her and nodded to the director.
Adrian rolled cameras.
She and Jackson went through their lines, which were blessedly short and easy enough to deliver. And then it was time for the clinch. It was supposed to be passionate. Joyous. But for the life of her, she couldn’t summon anything resembling joy. Instead, the hopelessness of it all washed over her. No matter how much she loved Jackson, it would never be enough if he couldn’t let himself return her love. They were doomed. This would never work out. The quality of their embrace changed. Took on a sense of desperation. Of lovers about to be wrenched apart by fate, never to see one another again.
To her shock, Jackson met the intensity of her emotion beat for beat of his heart against hers. The tragedy of loss flowed through him and into her so strongly she nearly wept from it midscene. They traded intense, wistful kisses and caresses that communicated a thousand times more loudly than words how keenly each of them felt the loss of what they’d had between them. Did he really feel that way, too, or was he just acting?
How could this be acting? It felt too raw, too painful, to be anything but real. He might be a great actor, but there was a limit to what any actor could do. And truth be told, they’d been getting through this entire series of shoots by wearing their actual hearts on their sleeves.
The script called for a passionate reunion in this scene. Happily ever after. Not this tragic farewell of doomed lovers. And yet, here they were dying in each other’s arms.
Jackson went through the motions of making love to her with a gentleness that stole her breath away. She responded from the depths of her soul, begging him with body, mouth, eyes and soul to take everything she was. To remember her and hold a tiny piece of her somewhere in his heart. And he accepted her gift in its entirety, giving her back a piece of his soul in return. It hurt so bad she struggled to draw each breath.
The poignancy of their sweet passion crescendoed and then broke as they collapsed to the mat, breathing hard.
Adrian called a hushed “Cut.”
Utter silence fell over the soundstage.
Uh-oh. What had she and Jackson just done? Was it that crushingly bad?
For once, not a single snide joke was fired in their direction from Jackson’s guys. Even the teeny-bopper extras were silent and subdued. Crud. When had that giant lump lodged in the back of her throat? Ana risked peeking up at Adrian as he strode over to them, frowning.
“Did we totally screw that up?” Jackson muttered.
“Not at all. It just wasn’t what I expected. It’s a fascinating take on the scene, though. I wasn’t looking for Romeo and Juliet, but I have to say, the star-crossed lovers theme works.”
Oh, no. She and Jackson had channeled their real relationship into the scene. Again. Or more to the point, onto film for all the crew—all the world—to see. If there were a real rock nearby for her to crawl under, she’d be there already, hiding in a tight little ball of misery and humiliation this very second.
Adrian nodded slowly. “The hopelessness works. It permeated all your movements and leaped out of the scene. It wouldn’t have worked if either of you had committed any less to it. Frankly, I didn’t think Ana had the acting experience to pull that off, so I didn’t take the story there. But now that you have, I love it. Great job.”
Adrian dropped his next bomb so casually that Ana didn’t see it coming until it had already blown up in her face. “I want to run that scene again, but this time let’s do it the other way. I want you two fighting to an upbeat, passionate conclusion. Can you make that shift now, or do you need a break to reset mentally?”
Ana squeezed her eyes shut in brief agony. How was she supposed to survive dredging up the full power of the passion she and Jackson had shared...and lost?
Jackson ground out, “Let’s just get it over with.”
His words only increased her pain. He obviously didn’t want to revisit their recent passion, either. At all. She’d known all along that she would lose him eventually, but now that the moment was upon her, it was harder to bear than she’d imagined. The loss cut soul deep.
“Okay,” Adrian said briskly. “We’ll start with anger and violence and shift over into that fiery passion the two of
you are so good at generating.” He backed up and moved over to have one last word with his cameramen before they rolled.
Oh, she so had anger wired. She’d been pissed off for days. But as she reached for it now, she couldn’t find it in the morass of overwhelming sadness left over from the scene they’d just shot.
“Do you remember the moves we worked out for this sequence in case Adrian wanted to run it as a fight?” Jackson mumbled unwillingly in her general direction.
“More or less.” They really should have rehearsed this fight in the past few days, but it went without saying that neither one of them had been keen on the idea of a practice session with everything else that had been going on.
“Places!” Adrian called.
She stepped forward and Jackson did the same. God, he looked hot, even decked out like the Jolly Green Giant.
“You smell as good as I remember,” he breathed.
Gratitude flowed through her. The comment made her think of his bed in the seaside mansion. Their first nights together. It was a generous gesture as an actor to give her a cue to help her find an emotion she was having trouble finding.
Their gazes met as some delay with a camera drew the moment out. Shared misery gradually transformed to wry humor as they stared at one another.
Aw, heck. Desire blazed in his eyes, and an answering eruption of lust flared in her gut. His nostrils flared like he sensed it just as Adrian shouted, “Roll cameras...and, action!”
She leaped in to slap Jackson. Her hand smacked satisfyingly against his cheek, and amusement flared in his eyes. She whirled away, falling into the rhythm of the dance with him as easily as they fell into a rhythm with sex. In. Out. Spin. Get caught. Slip the hold. Dance away. Rinse, lather and repeat.
It dawned on her gradually that Jackson was being particularly careful and considerate of her. He was pulling his punches a little more than usual and grappling with her a little more gently than in the past. It probably wasn’t noticeable to anyone else, but she felt his concern and caring every time his hands touched her.
“More intense,” Adrian called.
Not. A. Problem. Panting, both physically and mentally, she let go of the tightly leashed frustration she’d been holding at bay the past few days so she could stay good and mad at him. Why wouldn’t he admit he loved her, dammit? Righteous fury roared through her, and the next time she leaped in on the attack, she jumped into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist.
He caught her with easy strength and yanked her face to his. They didn’t actually kiss because of the CGI artist’s damned dots on their lips, but their breath mingled hotly and their stares locked in a silent sexual battle.
She bit his chin—hard—and he let her fall as she sprang back. But this time, his stalking held a distinctly sexual quality. He was a male on the hunt for his mate. Intent to catch her, subdue her and bend her to his will was written in every aggressive step he took.
About damned time.
She circled him, looking for an opening to swoop in, take what she wanted and dart away from his grasp. An apt analogy for their entire relationship. Except for the part where you secretly hope he would catch you and make you his forever—
Shut up, self! God, she hated that little voice sometimes!
The instant’s distraction cost her. Jackson pounced and she was a millisecond too slow jumping out of his reach. For a moment, he looked surprised. He wasn’t supposed to catch her yet in this sequence. But he went with it and wrapped her up in a tight bear hug from which there was no escaping. She wriggled and fought while he threw his head back and laughed in triumph. He planted a kiss on her that would have melted tempered steel, and a romantic sigh rose from the peanut gallery watching them film.
But then Jackson was really kissing her. Dots be damned. And the whole world fell away, leaving them in a lime-green universe containing only the two of them. No sound. No fury. No cameras. Just the two of them and the passion raging between them. How could either one of them seriously contemplate walking away from this?
He drew her up against his body until she stood on her tiptoes on top of his feet. His strong arms plastered her against him—not that she needed much encouragement to do some plastering of her own. They could deny it all they wanted, and they could be mad at each other all they wanted, but the basic, core attraction between them was bigger than either one of them. Irresistible.
Through their thin bodysuits, she felt him grow hard and huge, and her own body grew damp and needy in response. Her hips rocked against his, and one of his big hands clenched her rear end, holding her snugly against him. He groaned under his breath. The sound vibrated all the way to her core and lodged there, daring her not to respond to it.
And hoo baby, did she ever respond. The telltale beginnings of an orgasm began to snap and crackle deep within her, and she groaned in the back of her throat. Holding her off the ground, Jackson began a slow twirl with her, turning around and around until she was dizzy and clinging to him like he was the sun and she his own personal moon, orbiting him. Comets and meteors and cosmic explosions of lust exploded off the two of them and poured outward into the universe.
The breath-stealing sensations between her legs grew along with the size of his erection clenched tightly between her thighs. She rocked her hips forward once. Twice. She was going to implode—
“And...cut!”
She jolted as Adrian yelled out from somewhere out of her line of sight. Holy crap. She’d totally forgotten where they were. Movie set. Filming. Audience. Huge erection bulging between her thighs. She looked up at Jackson in distress.
He put her down gently, sliding her down his body and steadying her against him until she was able to turn in his arms and face Adrian. She leaned back against him, affording him a modicum of modesty until he could, uh, calm himself.
“You two are naturals,” Adrian crowed. “That was spectacular.” He turned to the cluster of crew and extras who uniformly wore slightly awed and totally turned-on expressions. “And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how a green-screen scene is done.”
“Sign me up,” one of the female extras replied fervently.
Everybody laughed. Wow. That was a lot of pent-up sexual tension humming among the bystanders. Ana muttered to Jackson, “If Adrian has a heart, he’ll call a lunch break and let the crew hook up with those horny little nymphets for nooners.”
She felt Jackson’s smile against her ear. “I could go for one of those, myself.”
“So I noticed.”
Adrian called out, “The caterers have lunch ready. Let’s meet back here in an hour.”
“My office,” Jackson murmured. His voice was nearly as charged as her girl parts. They didn’t quite run for his office, but they walked pretty damned fast down the hall, and Jackson never let go of her hand.
He closed and locked his door and turned toward her. Amazing how long it took to pull on the annoying tight-fitting bodysuits, yet how incredibly quickly they could be peeled off when a girl was properly motivated.
Jackson picked her up and she obligingly wrapped her legs around his waist where they’d left off when Adrian had yelled cut. He murmured, “Now, where were we?”
He surged up into her and she all but sobbed with relief at having his throbbing erection buried deep inside her, touching her womb. She whispered against his neck, “Take me like you mean it, Jackson. I’ve missed you so much.”
He drove upward hard, moving as he went, backing her up against a wall and then ramming into her hard and fast enough to rattle the picture frames beside her head. She groaned her pleasure aloud and grabbed his hair, urging him onward.
Apparently dissatisfied with how deep he was able to reach inside her, he spun and swept an arm across his desk. Notes and schedules went flying in a paper snowstorm around them. He laid her down on the desk and she reached
up to grab him, surging up to meet him as he moved over her like a tsunami slamming a coastline. Advance. Retreat. Over and over. Higher and higher he went inside her, and with each thrust her lust built toward something so epic it didn’t have a name.
She pushed up on her elbows in a moment of retreat, gained her feet and pushed Jackson backward until he fell onto the couch. She followed him down, impaling herself on him with a massive groan of pleasure as she sought the detonation hovering so close. Her hips were not her own, rocking forward hard against his pelvis over and over, faster and faster. Her entire body clenched around his huge, hot member as she rode it like a bucking bronco.
And then, without warning, the explosion claimed her. Her entire being came apart and little bits of her flew to the ends of the world and back as she screamed against Jackson’s neck. The corded tendons and muscles there were rock hard with terrible tension. A quick flex of arms and abs, and she was flat on her back beneath him, still impaled on that hot, throbbing iron.
He growled, “Sing for me, baby. Scream for me. Admit that you’ll never get enough of me and no one else can do this to you like I can.”
“Ohmigosh, Jackson—”
“Admit it.” His jaw clenched as he pounded her like a piston, stroking her out of her mind as another orgasm ripped free of her body and tore her apart. And another. And another.
“I’m not stopping until you admit it,” he bit out.
Yet another orgasm destroyed her from the inside out. She couldn’t catch her breath. Her muscles had no strength left. She could only cling to him and let him ravage her to his heart’s content...and it turned out to be her heart’s desire, as well.
Finally, the emotional overload of orgasm after orgasm was so intense, so excessive, that she began to lose the ability to think. To see. She was going to pass out soon. “I admit it,” she gasped.
Instead of stopping, his pace increased, the piston becoming a ramrod splintering her defenses and driving home in one last apocalyptic crash of electric, exploding conflagration that incinerated her into a quaking, quivering pile of ash. With a shout of his own against her temple, Jackson convulsed, shuddering and shuddering as a massive orgasm turned his entire being inside out.
