Crossing the Line

by Lauren Landish

  I bite my lower lip as my gaze wanders back out the window and I see Gavin putting on a fake, pearly-white smile as his picture is taken with a group of rowdy fans. A week? I have to try to avoid this incredibly sexy man for a week?

  Lord help me.

  “I’m in big trouble,” I mutter.

  Gavin

  “I’ll suck yo dick, man,” the toothless bum mumbles as he stumbles up to me, scratching himself all over his arms. Moments before, he’d asked me for some spare change, which I declined. Now he looks at me with his desperate, rheumy blue eyes, faded from being in the sun for far too long.

  “What?” I ask with a scowl and an arched eyebrow.

  The bum grins, displaying stained gums and broken teeth, then repeats more urgently through his mush mouth while flailing his arms at my crotch, “Man, I’ll suck yo DICK!”

  I grab his hands, shoving them away from my waist, and then push the bum slightly to the side. He turns back to me, reaching for what looks like a box cutter on his belt. I lash out instinctively with my work boot, catching him straight in that sunken hole of a mouth, and he goes flying back onto the pile of boxes behind him.

  “CUT!” someone yells behind me, shocking me out of the scene.

  I turn to see a flurry of activity from the stage crew as the director, Jim Thompson, gives me an enthusiastic thumbs-up with a goofy grin on his face. “That was great, Anaconda! You nailed him good!”

  I grit my teeth at the hated nickname. I’ve told everyone on set not to call me it, and they still persist on doing it. I swear I’m going to blow a gasket by the time filming is over with.

  “No fucking shit!” Lance, the bum and stuntman doubling as an actor whines, holding his mouth as he crawls out of the pile of boxes with the help of a young stagehand. Blood is seeping between his fingers as he scowls at me angrily, “Fucking amateur, you’re supposed to pull the kick!”

  “Dude, I’m sorry,” I apologize, stepping forward to offer him help.

  Lance waves me off as he shoves the stagehand away and climbs to his feet. “You fucking suck, Anaconda.” He removes the fake gum caps from his teeth, showing the crew of onlookers a blood-stained chipped tooth. “Look at this shit.”

  “Hey, Lance,” Jim cuts in. “Cut Gavin some slack. It was a mistake. Let’s get you fixed up and redo the scene.”

  Jim’s words only seem to make Lance even angrier as he scowls at me with hatred, grabbing a towel from the stagehand he just shoved and pressing it to his lips. “Fuck that! How about getting a real actor in here? This dude needs to go back to being an overhyped and overpaid football star.”

  I was sorry before, but now I’m irritated. I didn’t mean to kick the guy, but honestly, this whole scene is fucking stupid. When I read the script, I was under the impression I would be taking down a bad guy and establishing myself as a hero, not beating down a toothless crackhead who was desperate for a hit. The whole movie seems like it’s going to be one of those low-budget, shitty D-rate, straight-to-DVD movies instead of the blockbuster Miranda promised me.

  Lance continues his rant, spitting blood-tinged saliva at my feet. “Arrogant prick!”

  Keeping my expression neutral, I turn away from Lance and walk off before I do something I end up regretting. The guy is testing my patience with his ranting. I didn’t mean to kick him, but I did feel a little off during the stunt sequence, finding it hard to focus.

  It’s her, I think to myself, the image of the hot maid flashing in front of my eyes. The way she bounded from the room, her hair flying like a banner behind her like . . . Bunny. My little Bunny. I don’t know her name, so that’s what I’ll call her. Desire runs through my blood as I clench my jaw and make my way off the set. She’s in my head, fucking up my game.

  I’m still smarting from the way she ran from me. No woman has ever done that to me. Not when they knew who I am. And she has to know who I am. Doesn’t she? And that sassy friend of hers, Mindy, knew damn well where she was when I walked into the coffee shop. I could see it in her eyes.

  As I walk away, I hear Miranda yell from the agent seat, “Goddammit, Gavin, get back here! We have three more scenes to shoot!”

  “They’ll be lucky if I come back at all,” I mutter, ignoring her, not really watching where I’m going.

  I hear a short gasp as I bump into someone. Leslie Hart, the vixen who’s supposed to be my leading lady, stumbles back a step before catching herself. Dressed in jeans and a red halter top that showcases her cleavage, she’s pretty enough, with long blonde hair and a sultry smile, but she doesn’t interest me at all. Not after Bunny. I’m already dreading the romantic scenes that I’m sure are loaded throughout the script. Nothing else seems interesting so far. They’re going to have to fill it with something.

  “Sorry about that,” I tell her.

  Leslie waves my apology off with manicured fingers, the scent of her woodsy fragrance filling my nostrils. “I’m fine.” She frowns, glancing over at the raging Lance. “But do you think he’ll be all right?”

  “I’m sure he will,” I say politely, walking past her and continuing on to my trailer. I need a moment to reset. To try to get Bunny off my mind. Or the rest of the day will be a disaster. “But I really don’t care,” I add under my breath.

  I sit back in the leather tufted chair near the window of my suite, a cognac glass sitting on the small arm table beside me. I roll my neck until I hear a pop and let out a satisfied grunt, feeling the ache in the soles of my feet.

  Filming was a bitch today. After the fuckup with the ‘bum’, I had to shoot an action scene with Leslie. I’d been hoping that we could be professional, and so far, so good.

  Everything after that was a complete mess when it came time to act. Whenever I had to recite my lines, I stumbled over them, fucked them up somehow, or even forgot them altogether.

  It’s that damn maid. Bunny. No matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to get her out of my head.

  But I know exactly what I need to cure this problem. I need to be balls deep inside her. Shit, we both need it. I saw it in her eyes. She might’ve run away, but you can’t hide lust like that.

  I shift in my seat and take a sip of the fine brandy, relishing the burn as it goes down. I’ve been unable to focus even off set. Rehearsing my lines seems a waste of time. Doing anything seems a waste of time. Unless it involves . . .

  “Get yourself together, man,” I mutter. “There’s nothing at all special about her.” I recognize the lie as soon as it leaves my lips. I've never had this type of reaction to a girl before. Ever. But at the same time, I have no fucking clue why I’m so worked up over it.

  I need to find out if this is just some sort of fluke. Some sort of anomaly causing me to act this way.

  And the only way to do that is to get her in my bed.

  I grip my glass tightly, trying to push the sexy maid from my thoughts. I’m still frustrated by how much I fucked up this morning. I want to be good at this. Not just because Miranda is hyping this for me, putting her reputation on the line, but simply because I want to be good at whatever I do.

  And right now, I’m fucking it up.

  My cell buzzes against the wood of the end table. I set down the cognac glass and check it. A slight grin plays across my lips. It’s my best friend, Mark Washington. He rode the bench all four years in college, but he and I still became good friends. We call each other every chance we get. “The very best speaking,” I greet.

  Mark huffs out a laugh. “How’re you doing, Anaconda?”

  Mark’s about the only person I know whom I don’t get pissed at for calling me Anaconda. Mainly because he’s almost like a brother to me.

  “Not too bad, man. Just got done shooting a couple of scenes today. How’s life in Florida?”

  After college, Mark went on to law school. Then he became a lawyer in Florida, specializing in admiralty law. He met a girl down there, got married, and has a kid on the way.

  A part of me is kind of envious. And I don’t even kn
ow why. I’ve enjoyed my freedom to do whatever the fuck I want. But I’m getting older now, and it’s starting to not have the same appeal anymore.

  “I’m doing good. Wife’s good, kids are good. Little Sarah is already talking and little Mark is having a fit over it. How’s . . . where the hell are you again?”

  “You won’t find it on most maps,” I tell him. “They’ve got a decent college football team around here, a hotel that’s way too big for this place, and that’s about it.”

  Mark says jokingly, “You find yourself some fine country girl yet?”

  “Nah,” I reply. Yes. And she can’t hide from me forever.

  “Seriously?” Mark asks in disbelief. “I thought you would’ve already plowed through a cheerleader squad by now or something.”

  I grit my teeth, but I realize I shouldn’t be getting pissed. He knows most of my reputation is exaggerated by the media, and I know he’s just fucking with me.

  “Actually, I’ve just been busy trying to get my lines right. This acting thing is pretty new to me and it’s going to take me a bit to get the hang of it.” I grunt. “I just hope I don’t give Miranda a stroke in the process.”

  “Damn. Anaconda, the action movie star.” Mark chuckles. There’s a pause before he adds, “Shit, man, why don’t you just say fuck all that, turn in your retirement for football, and just become a porn star—”

  “Hey, Mark, I’d love to talk more, but I gotta work,” I tell him, no longer in the mood for discussion. Besides, I’d rather not talk about who I’m not fucking at the moment. I need to start trying to work on my lines even if I can’t concentrate. Or it’s gonna be hell on the set tomorrow.

  Trying to muffle the disappointment in his voice, Mark says, “No worries, dude, you do your thing.”

  No sooner do I hang up than Miranda buzzes in. I don’t want to answer, but I know if I don’t, she’ll be at my door quicker than a bolt of lightning to hound my ass. But that’s what I pay her to do. Sometimes I don’t like it, but I need someone like her. Holding in a groan, I answer the phone.

  I make no effort to sound pleasant. I know what this call is going to be about. “Yeah?”

  And Miranda does not disappoint. “What the hell was that today?” she demands. “I didn’t exactly expect Shakespeare from you, but you performed like shit.” I can practically hear her shaking her head through the phone. “I’m just glad you didn’t knock that poor guy’s teeth out and we didn’t wind up with a lawsuit on our hands or something.”

  Judging by the anger Lance displayed, I still might.

  I grit my teeth, not wanting to deal with any of this right now. “Sorry. I just was . . . out of it.”

  Miranda squawks, “Out of it? More like the studio is going to be out of a boatload of money if you don’t get your act together! Every day that we have to film over costs the studio tens of thousands of dollars.”

  I almost huff out a laugh. Did she see the quality of the set? I doubt they were spending a fraction of that. “The entire production seems pretty low-budget, if you ask me.” Miranda pitched it to me like it was supposed to be an A-list film.

  “Hey,” Miranda protests. “They probably had to cut back on the budget since they had to pay you more. But I still think it’s going to be a hit.”

  I shift in my seat. It makes me uncomfortable thinking Miranda negotiated a seven-figure contract on my behalf, especially if it meant the cast and crew took a pay cut. I know it’s just business, but I’m not going to be starving anytime soon. Not to mention, I don’t really deserve it. I need to prove myself, but Miranda thought it was important for appearance’s sake.

  “And I think it’s going to be good for your career, regardless of whether it’s a blockbuster or not,” Miranda continues. “Remember, you’re just starting out and your acting talent is almost nonexistent. We’re operating on your looks, your popularity as a football player, and . . .” her words trail off, but I know she was about to say.

  That fucking video.

  “Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence, Miranda,” I say dryly.

  “I’m just doing what you pay me to do, tell you like it is,” Miranda says. “But I need you to start being on your game after today, Gavin. There’s a lot on the line.”

  I hang up my cell, frustrated, toying with my cognac glass. Miranda’s right. I need to do something, anything, to get my thoughts back on track. I can’t go on like this for another week. I have scenes to shoot, even if I do think this movie fucking sucks.

  My eyes stray to the dark brandy in the glass.

  Drinking certainly isn’t going to help.

  I get up from my seat, walking over to the mini-bar. There’s nothing inside. Not even a bottle of water. I frown. I don’t even remember drinking anything last night. I try calling the front desk, but after ten rings, nobody picks up. “What sort of nickel and dime operation is this?” I grumble, irritated. I’ve always been used to the very best service, and so far, this hotel is failing to match up to what I’m used to.

  Screw it. I’ll just go to the fucking vending machine.

  I grab my room key and head out the door. As I’m making my way down the hallway, I pass a maid wagon outside Leslie’s suite. And I run into something. Hard.

  There she is.

  The towels fall from Bunny’s fingers at my feet, her luminous eyes going wide with shock. Her hair’s a little messed up and she’s obviously been working hard. But fuck, she looks beautiful.

  I bend down to pick up her towels before she can react and offer them to her. “So we meet again,” I say, cracking a grin.

  Bunny gazes at me for a moment, still looking like a wide-eyed doe lost in the woods, a slight blush flushing her cheeks. “I-I-I’m sorry,” she stutters, her full, plump lips quivering. Lips that I can’t wait to taste.

  She reaches out and takes the towels from my hands, causing little sparks to shoot up my arm where our flesh touches.

  Fuck.

  Blood rushes down below, and my cock twitches inside my jeans as I hold in a groan. “No need to be sorry,” I say, holding my voice steady. “It was my fault.”

  She doesn’t reply right away, her eyes dropping to the floor. In the silence that follows, I swear I can hear her heartbeat.

  I clear my throat. “Listen, about yesterday . . .”

  “I’m sorry about that too,” she says, bringing her eyes back to my face. “If I’d known you were in there, I wouldn’t have . . .” her voice trails off and her cheeks flush even more. I imagine she’s thinking about seeing my cock right now. And it only further turns me on.

  “That was my fault too,” I reassure her. It’s getting hard to keep the strain out of my voice. “I shouldn’t have walked out on you like that without calling out first.”

  “Thank you,” she says quietly, seeming totally relieved.

  I arch an eyebrow. “For . . .?”

  “For not reporting me to my boss. He would’ve” —she swallows— “fired me.”

  I wave away her worry, though I don’t doubt her statement. The hotel manager did seem like an ass from the little conversation we’ve had. “There’s nothing to report. It wasn’t a big deal.”

  “Thank goodness,” she mutters to herself. “Because I frickin’ need this job.”

  The thought of needing a job as horrid as this one is a scary thought. The fact that she feels she has to work at a place like this fills me with concern. Although it shouldn’t. My only concern should be bending her to my will.

  I look at the chest of her uniform. No name tag. She probably didn’t wear it in case she ran into me again. “What’s your name?” I ask her.

  “Bri-Brianna,” she replies shyly.

  I extend my hand. I love her name. And what a coincidence. It starts with a B—like Bunny. “Nice to meet you, Brianna. Mine’s Gavin.”

  She looks at my hand like she’s scared of it before taking it. I marvel at how soft and supple her skin is as I shake hers and then let go. I regret letting go instantly, lu
st burning through my body like an inferno.

  She’s blushing furiously as I take a step closer and a pleasant woodsy scent fills my nostrils.

  “Well listen, Brianna,” I growl in a slightly menacing but playful tone. “You actually did do something wrong yesterday.”

  I almost grin at her reaction, her lips suddenly quivering and her hand flying to her chest. “What? You said I didn’t—”

  I move in closer, backing her up against the wall and placing both of my hands to either side of her head. “You ran from me,” I tell her, my voice dropping low. This close up, she looks so vulnerable. So innocent. Blood pumps furiously down below. She’s making my cock so hard it fucking hurts. “And no one runs from me.”

  Her breathing is coming out in short, ragged pants, her soft body nearly pressed up against mine. She obviously wants me, and I want her too. Her lips beg me to kiss her.

  We’re so close, I can almost feel the heat emanating from her core.

  Brianna stares at me, not sure what to think, her mouth opening and then closing. “I—” she begins, before she’s interrupted by a crackle at her waist.

  “Hey, Brianna?” says a man’s voice.

  Brianna tears her terrified eyes away from mine and glances down at her hip.

  I clench my jaw at the interruption. Fuck whoever this dude is. Seriously. I’m tempted to take her walkie talkie from her and silence it so we can continue our conversation. There’s nothing stopping me. But I step away, letting her free, placing my hands behind my back.

  Brianna is breathless as she grabs her transceiver. “Y-y-yes?” she asks, her voice unsteady. “I’m here.”

  “Hey, it’s Jimmy. You all right? You sound out of breath.”

  “I’m fine,” Brianna says quickly, her eyes nervously darting to me and then away.

  “Oh, okay. I got that issue resolved. The room’s clear for you when you want. You read me?”

  “Yes, Jimmy, thanks. I’ll be there as soon as I finish up here on six,” Brianna says, her voice tinged with relief. She continues to avoid my gaze as she speaks. “Thanks.”