by Amy Valenti
He was bleeding pretty badly from a wound just shy of his left temple. God, what had happened to him?
I jumped to my feet and ran to him, my heart racing. It was only as I reached out to touch his face that the puzzle pieces fell into place. Movie set…makeup…fake wound. Right.
“It’s not real, is it?” I dropped my hand back to my side and shook my head, embarrassed. “God, I’m an idiot.”
He grinned. “Hey, at least it looks convincing enough to fool someone.”
I was still too filled with adrenaline to answer coherently, talking myself down from the fear that he might really be hurt.
“Wanna take a closer look?” Callum asked.
Now that I was calming down, I had to admit it was pretty cool. It wasn’t the first fake wound I’d seen, but the others had all been from a distance—like I’d told Callum, I didn’t interact with cast members or the makeup crew much in my usual job. “Can I?”
He held still while I brushed my fingers lightly over the prosthetic piece they’d attached to his forehead. They’d given it an indentation where the ‘wound’ was, making it look like a nasty gash to the head, and I guessed they’d add some fresh fake blood to the stuff they’d already applied just before shooting started. The prosthetic was squishy and kind of gross, and a light dusting of makeup came away on my fingers.
“Don’t mess it up. Marcia will have my head.” His voice was huskier than usual, and made me turn my attention from the prosthetic to the rest of his face. He was gazing at me—my eyes, my lips—and I caught my breath at the barely veiled desire in his expression. Tingles rushed between my thighs in response to his lust, and my pulse jumped again; not because I was afraid he was injured, this time.
Before I could lose control, lean in and kiss him, Callum moved away, averting his eyes and clearing his throat. Flustered, I went back to my seat and picked up my phone again. “You still have an hour or so until filming starts, right? Paul should be in makeup now.”
Callum nodded. “We’re going on location as soon as he’s done. I should find Spencer and work through some choreography, though. As you might have guessed, we’re doing fight scenes today. It can get a little confusing.”
“Sure.”
There was an open space with a few mats laid out in one corner of the lot, and a man I assumed was Spencer was standing in front of them. He wasn’t a regular member of our crew, I knew that much.
Seeing us approach, he raised a hand. “Cal! Wondered when I was gonna see you again, you son of a bitch. Nice head wound.”
Callum returned his macho hug. “Good to see you, man. It’s been how long?”
“Since I kicked your ass last? Two years, at least.” Spencer glanced across at me. “And who’s this?”
“My temporary assistant, Kat. She’s usually with the set department, but she’s helping to keep me on track while I’m up here.”
At Callum’s introduction, I smiled and shook Spencer’s hand. Something about him set me on alert the same way Callum did, though not to the same extremes. “Nice to meet you.” I think.
“Likewise. I’m the stunt coordinator on this sorry production—Spencer Hyde.”
Callum winced at his friend’s damning assessment of the show. “Keep it down, Spence.”
“Have you seen the dailies? God knows what the studio is thinking, trying to take this shit to the network.”
On behalf of my co-workers as well as myself, I felt like I had to step in. “It wouldn’t be so bad if the author of the books wasn’t rewriting half of our scripts and changing our sets to suit her ‘vision’,” I said, air-quoting for emphasis. “There are good people on this team—we’re just working with what we have.”
Spencer slanted a glance in my direction. “Oh, I don’t doubt it. I just don’t know what Cal and I are doing here.”
“We both owe favours to the same friend, the author’s brother,” Callum filled in. “We wouldn’t be working on this one otherwise.”
“Oh…” Did that mean Callum definitely wasn’t going to be taking a role as recurring guest star after these two weeks were up? I’d assumed as much, but part of me had hoped there was a chance.
“And the less that dickhead is mentioned, the better,” Spencer said darkly. “Come on, Connors. Time to put you through your paces.”
I made sure I was well out of range of any flailing fists or feet, glancing down at my schedule to make sure I’d get Callum to the minibus on time for the location shoot. I looked up again just in time to see him carefully easing his shirt over his head, preserving the fake wound on his forehead. Oh, great. I turn the guy down and he’s gonna strip off to show me what I’m missing? Why does he need to lose the shirt if he’s just doing choreography?
I was probably reading way too much into it, but that didn’t stop me from getting hot and bothered as the two shirtless men circled each other. Spencer was more muscular and obviously spent a lot of time in the gym—not my type, though he was definitely attractive. Callum, though… I wanted to drag him off to some dark corner and run my hands and lips all over that gorgeous torso.
I turned away abruptly, reminding myself of the woman on the bunk bed last night—scared and hopeless and bruised. There was no way I’d go there again, not even if it meant copping a feel of Callum’s delicious body.
There was a thump behind me, followed by a masculine grunt and Spencer’s laughter. I turned, unable to deny my curiosity, as Callum got to his feet, a light sheen of sweat on his skin. “Okay, okay, I get it. You’re stronger than me. You gonna teach me how to pull that one off?”
I could practically taste the rising testosterone as the two guys circled and sparred, looking for openings. This was definitely not choreography rehearsal—their blows connected, though not hard enough to do any damage. A couple of times I thought Callum had outwitted Spencer, but every time the outcome was the same—Callum landing with a wince and a thud on the mat.
Getting up for the sixth time—or was it the seventh?—he glanced over in my direction. I must have looked concerned, because he called, “I’m fine, Kat. Spencer’s just asserting his dominance over me.” There was more than a little dryness in his words.
I rolled my eyes to give the impression that I didn’t care. “Why don’t you two just get a room? Or better yet, you could both just whip ‘em out and I can tell you whose is bigger.” Gee, thanks, brain. I really needed the mental image to go with that cliché.
Spencer looked between us, then raised an eyebrow at Callum. “‘Assistant’, huh?”
Callum shook his head, a clear warning on his features. “Don’t go there, man.”
Spencer gave me one more analytical stare before turning away. “Okay. Let me show you how I’ve been kicking your ass. We’ll do the choreography on the set.”
While Spencer shifted to an instructor’s role and Callum actually started to win some of their bouts, I pondered what the stunt guy been getting at. Was Spencer a Dom too? Had he picked up on my submissiveness the way Callum had? If that was true, I didn’t like it. I didn’t want to be a beacon for every Dom in the vicinity. I’d survived ten years without being approached by one—what had changed within the last week?
“Kat?”
I blinked up into Callum’s face, startled. I hadn’t meant to go so deep into my own thoughts, but he had his shirt in hand and was obviously done with Spencer, who chugged a bottle of water in the middle of the mat.
“Huh?”
Callum pulled on his shirt as he spoke, his fake head wound still in place. “Time to go on location, right?”
I glanced down at my watch in alarm. “Shit, yes. Thank you.” Embarrassed by my dreaminess, I added, “I was just thinking about the brunch date I’m missing because of you.”
His lips twitched. “You know, you get less convincing every time you lie about plans you had for your time off.”
I scowled up at him. There was no way he could know I’d made no concrete plans in advance. I made a mental note to book
a dentist’s appointment and schedule a routine health check for later in the week, just so I could get the hell away from him. “You don’t know a thing about my life. Come on, we’re gonna be late.”
“You coming, Spence?” Callum called over his shoulder as we walked off.
“I’m taking my own wheels. See you there.”
Jacie, Paul and three actors portraying minor characters were already at the minibus when we arrived. Most of the crew were taking their equipment down separately, so this minibus was for the actors only, plus me. It made me pretty uncomfortable that neither Jacie nor Paul—the stars of the show—had their own assistants. It made me stand out, and I didn’t want them to think I was just Callum’s sex slave. Which is what he wants me to be.
After Jacie had exclaimed over Callum’s fake wound and used it as an excuse to get her hands all over him, we all got into the vehicle and headed the short distance downtown to a local bar.
“All right, bar fight. Do I get to wave a broken bottle around?” Paul looked way too cheerful about getting to beat Callum up for my liking.
“There are a few bottles made of sugar glass,” I replied without thinking. I’d been working side by side with the props department on this production before Callum had changed my assignment, and Doug had let me try striking one of the bottles against a bench just to see how it worked. Okay, maybe that had been a waste of a prop, but Doug never could say no to me. “They look pretty dangerous, but they’re just for show.”
Paul really paid attention to me for the first time. “Who are you, again?”
“I work in set design,” I said, just as Callum spoke.
“She’s my assistant.”
“That, too,” I added, shrugging.
Paul raised an eyebrow in my direction. “If you feel like assisting me later, come on by my trailer. I could use some help showering off this fake blood—”
Oh, yeah, right…
“Back off, Paul.” Callum’s voice was a low, intimidating growl, and despite the threat in the words, I couldn’t help but melt inside.
Whoa, girl. You can defend your own honour.
Before I could speak, the minibus came to a stop and Spencer yanked the sliding door open. How had he gotten here before us? He must drive like a lunatic.
“Come on, ladies and gents. It’s fight time.”
* * * *
Callum
Fuck, it would have felt good to beat Paul to a bloody pulp against the bar. Unfortunately, in the movie business it was all about looking as though you were pounding on someone and none of the actual violence. Spencer took us through our routine—which was more like dancing than fighting when it came down to it—as the crew made small modifications to the bar-room we were using for a set today. Behind us, Darren was addressing the twenty or so extras who’d be playing fleeing bar patrons. They were curiously craning their necks to get glimpses of Paul, Jacie and I.
I wanted to go over to them and tell them to quit staring. Jacie was an airhead who happened to be able to act, Paul was a sleaze who hit on any pretty girl who walked within earshot, and me? I was just a guy who couldn’t even convince a sassy, sweet, inexplicably reluctant submissive to take a chance on him.
I mis-stepped for the third time and Spencer sighed. “Take five.”
He pulled me aside. “You’re better than this. What’s eating you?”
“You have to ask?” Spencer just waited, and I sighed. “Paul made a pass at Kat on the way down here.”
“Did she go for it?”
I realised I hadn’t even looked over at Kat to see what her reaction had been. I’d been too busy making sure Paul knew she was off-limits. “I don’t know. I doubt it.”
“I doubt it, too. She hides it pretty well, but that little subby’s got a real thing for you.”
I leaned against the wall and sighed. “She turned me down flat. ‘Not my damn submissive’, her exact words were.”
Spencer’s lips twitched, and suddenly it was him I was dying to punch. “Glad you think it’s funny, man. Some of us might have backed out of the lifestyle because they’re chickenshit, but most of us are still looking.”
His smile died abruptly. “Low blow, Cal.”
I inclined my head apologetically, already regretting my words. What had happened to Spencer a couple of years ago would have broken any Dom’s heart. “I take it back. Shouldn’t have brought it up.”
He nodded slowly, a new awareness in his eyes. “You’re really into this one. Never thought you’d be looking to get serious, especially not with a sub from the opposite coast.”
“She…” I tried to rub my forehead and grimaced when my fingers met the latex prosthetic glued to my face. “I don’t know what it is about her, but she had me by the cock the moment she first looked at me. I don’t get like that with women, Spence, but here I am. And she doesn’t even want me. It’s like she’s…scared.”
Spencer snorted. “Trust me. She wants you.”
I’d thought the same thing, but she’d given me her answer and it hadn’t been the one I’d been hoping for. Maybe my pride had just taken a hit, but the hurt felt deeper than that. I hadn’t had time to analyse it yet. I was probably going to fall into a bottle after work ended and drown my sorrows for the night. “Part of her does, but not enough.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Spencer glanced over his shoulder to where Kat was watching the extras take their seats at various tables and in booths. “Maybe she has to work through the fear, or maybe you have to take her past it. But moping and getting angry aren’t going to help. Now let’s see some concentration.”
I focused better after that, and soon we were ready to perform for the cameras. There were a series of short takes rather than the filming of a continuous scene. A couple of the moves would be performed by stunt doubles for health and safety purposes, but for the most part it was Paul against me and three of my character’s posse. The most irritating thing was that Paul’s character was scripted to win against four bad guys while Lynette, Jacie’s character, cowered in the corner like a delicate princess waiting for rescue. For all its claims to be the next Buffy, Dark Hearts Broken didn’t come close. God, I hate this clichéd script.
The scene after this one would be a love scene between Jacie and her rescuer, though, and while Kat was on my radar I was more than happy to skip that. If I had to pretend to let Paul beat me, so be it.
Halfway through the day, we cleaned up the fake blood and prosthetics to film the part of the scene before we became injured, then changed costumes entirely for a scene set in the wrecked bar the next day. By the time the sun set, we were done with the bar location.
Smashing a sugar glass bottle against the bar had been way too much fun; so much so that I’d purposely fucked up a take so I could do it again. I’d confessed it to Kat as we’d waited for the extras to get back into position, and she’d laughed, agreeing that it had been the highlight of her day when she’d tried it, too. I’d wanted to kiss her until the stunning smile on her face had faded into pure lust, and something had twisted in my chest as I realised she’d vetoed that.
The minibus dropped us off back at the studio, and Kat looked over at me as the rest of the cast dispersed. “Will you need anything else today, Chuck Norris?”
I fought down the urge to give her an honest answer. Yeah, I need you. Naked, in my trailer, tied to the bed with your legs over my shoulders while I fuck you into ecstasy. That would have made me no better than Paul.
“I’ll handle myself from here.” The double entendre had been completely unintentional, and I gave myself a mental slap around the back of the head. It didn’t seem as though she’d picked up on it, though. “You can head home for the night.”
Kat nodded. “See you tomorrow, then.” She hesitated, then started to turn away.
“Oh, and for your information, I’m way hotter than Chuck Norris,” I added.
“So modest, too.” She rolled her eyes, grinning, and I curled my hand into a fist so I would
n’t brush a stray wisp of dark hair out of her eyes. Fuck, she was beautiful.
She waited a moment longer, as though she had something to say or was expecting something from me, but then she shook her head slightly. “Goodnight.”
“Drive safe, Kat.”
Sighing, I watched her hips sway as she walked away. She wasn’t being intentionally provocative, I knew that—but I longed to spank that alluring ass again.
“Get over it, Connors,” I muttered to myself as I returned to my trailer. It wasn’t like this was a long-term job. Surely I could hold myself in check for another week and a half.
I had to strip off my costume before I left for the day, so I stepped into the trailer’s shower while I was at it. I was bound to be sore in the morning from flinging myself at various pieces of furniture, acting as though Paul had hit me hard enough to propel me there. Ha! In his dreams. I turned the shower stream as hot as I could stand and simply stood under the water for a while, letting the scalding stream soothe my aches away.
All except one. My ache for Kat was as strong as ever, in my heart and in my cock. If I let myself fantasise about her, it was pitiful how quickly the blood rushed to my dick.
With a groan of surrender, I took hold of my hard shaft and stroked firmly up towards the head. I’d been on edge all day, and I wouldn’t be getting any release from Kat herself. I could have gone to a club downtown, hooked up with the first pretty girl to recognise me…but all I wanted was her.
My imagination took over where my experience was lacking, scripting a fantasy I wished like hell would come true.
She was in the bedroom when I emerged from the shower, kneeling in sexy lingerie on the floor. She looked up at me through her lashes, gauging my reaction. “Is this okay?”
How could it not be okay? “I thought you weren’t my damn submissive, Kat?” I stopped in front of her, wound my fingers into her hair and yanked her head back so I could see into her face.
Her breath caught. Her eyelids fluttered shut and her exposed throat shifted as she swallowed hard. “I’m not. And I don’t even know why I’m here. I just want you too much.”
