Panty Dropper (A Sexy Standalone Contemporary Romance)

by Paige North

  My mind was still on going up to Santa Barbara, Leo in the driver seat—probably of some panty-dropping sports car. Still, I saw myself in the passenger seat, hair blowing in the wind, his hand on my bare thigh. But I had to keep focus and, honestly, I wanted to know more about him. “Did you grow up rich or something?”

  “Blunt, aren’t we?” he said. Leo sucked in a breath and said, “I grew up rich in advice.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I had lots and lots of people telling me what I should do,” he said.

  “Did you listen to any of them?”

  “Not a one.”

  Leo had ordered the wine before I arrived—from the sommelier, of course—and she appeared at our table to present the bottle and pour us each a glass. Soon after, the waiter arrived and Leo asked if he could order for the two of us.

  “Ordering is one of my many talents,” he joked.

  He began rattling off specialty rolls, tempura, sizzling meats and all kinds of dishes I’d never heard of, and it sounded like enough food for a party of five.

  When I looked at him ordering for us, I felt a sense of ease, which was the last thing I should feel sitting across from the most powerful man in Los Angeles with a script he gave me to evaluate still resting in my lap. But I did. Or maybe I was still feeling shell shocked from his mere presence.

  Ordering done, the waiter took his leave.

  “You brought the script with you?” Leo finally asked, turning towards me now.

  “I did.”

  “Did you have a chance to read it?”

  Straightaway I wondered if this was a date or a business meeting. Still, I laughed at his question. “Leo, I just got this less than an hour ago. But I did skim it and see that it’s set in Korea.”

  “I’m hoping you’ll help me with it. That’s a very rough draft, but you have a sharp eye and I think you could really bring some life to it.”

  “You think I could add something to a war movie?” I said, a bit confused. Leo had already taught me that, even in the loudest of movies, there could be realistic, compassionate, three-dimensional characters. But a war movie set in the 1950s?

  “It’s not a war movie,” he said, a smile flickering on his face. “I guess you didn’t get to read much of it on the drive?”

  “There was a pretty spectacular view on the ride that held my attention,” I said. “Kind of like the one here. You bring all your script dates here?”

  “No, come on,” he said, rearranging the plates and chopsticks before him.

  “I’m teasing,” I said, resting my forearms on the table.

  “You’re very good at it. Listen, Sophie,” he said. He reached across the small table and brushed his fingers over my hand. I felt myself staring down at the slow motion of his fingers on my skin, hypnotized. “I enjoy spending time with you. You’re smart and drop-dead beautiful. If you enjoy spending time with me, then let’s not read more into it. Okay?”

  That pulled me out of my trance. “Yeah, sure,” I said, flustered, the familiar pang of rejection hitting my insides. “I wasn’t reading—into it, I mean.”

  “And you also weren’t reading that script, I see,” he said, that grin coming out to play on those lips again. I thought he’d sit back, move his hands away from mine after making his not-so-subtle point. Instead, he covered his hand over mine and held firm, stroking his thumb slowly across my skin. I was expected to sit through dinner with him and act as if this one small gesture didn’t make me squirm in my seat, already hot with desire for him? I’d never make it past the edamame.

  He watched me closely, and I shifted in my seat, crossing my legs. I moved my thumb so squeeze his hand back. “If you gave me a little more time to do my homework, professor…”

  He laughed, and the fact that I made Leo Armstrong laugh out loud gave me immense pleasure, even though it made him move his hand away from mine.

  “I want to work with you on this,” I said, taking the stack of papers. “Whatever it is. But there’s one thing I want from you first,” I said, recalling how lost I’d been when he disappeared for so long up until tonight.

  “A role in the movie?”

  “Very funny,” I said. “All I want is your phone number. That’s not too much for a girl to ask, is it?” I kept my eyes on him, gauging his reaction. He kept such a steady watch I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

  “Why wouldn’t I give you my number?” he said.

  “Because that’s your M.O.?” I said. “And because up until now you haven’t given me your number?”

  Because that’s how you keep control over the women you date, I wanted to add, but didn’t.

  Leo looked confused. “I’ve called you before,” he said. “Why didn’t you just copy my number from that?”

  “Because it’s blocked,” I said.

  “It is?” He thought for a moment. “My assistant set up my phone. I don’t know what it says on the other end when I call. But here—give me your phone. I’ll put it in now.”

  And like that, this thing I thought I had him on was resolved.

  He handed back my phone and said, “Now that that’s done, do you want to talk about that screenplay?”

  I was a little stunned, but tried to recover.

  “Back to business,” I said, putting my phone away after he’d put in his number.

  “There’s plenty of time for pleasure,” he said.

  My mind immediately danced around what that pleasure would be, where, when, and what. But I had to focus. “The screenplay, yes. What’s it about?” I feathered through the pages. “Some captain leading his platoon over a hill against a hundred enemy soldiers?” I joked, because I really hadn’t read much of it on the drive up.

  “Like I said, it’s not a war movie.”

  “It’s about Americans in Korea in the 1950s. But not a war movie. Okay—what is it?”

  “It’s about an American nurse serving in Korea—during the war, yes. She has a fiancé back home in law school. During her deployment, she goes on a month-long leave to Australia and meets a man. They fall madly in love. Soul mate love.”

  “Wow,” I said, surprised. A romance? “And you want to make this movie?”

  It came out harsher than I intended but Leo didn’t seem offended. Instead, he said, “Absolutely.”

  “This isn’t the kind of movie you normally make,” I said, stating the obvious.

  “You’re wondering where are the explosions and car chases and aliens?” he asked. “There will be a some gunfire in the beginning. Vivian—that’s our heroine, the nurse—she’s stationed at a hospital, so there will be some blood and disturbing war images.”

  “Thank goodness for that,” I joked.

  “But the majority of the story—the bulky middle—will be set in and around Sydney. Lots of sun, bright blue skies, beaches, that sort of thing. But I need you to help with the script.”

  I was flattered, but intimidated. “Leo, I appreciate the vote of confidence and all but I’m no expert. I can’t write or rewrite a script.”

  “I think you can. I already know that you have a good eye for story, and a good ear for dialogue,” he said. “And frankly, I trust you. No one at the studio—no one anywhere, actually—knows I'm working on this.”

  “Really?”

  “Really,” he said. “And I don’t want them to. I don’t need to hear the negative comments about Leo Armstrong’s Epix Pictures working on what they’d no doubt call some sappy romance, and the industry chatter about my losing grip on reality and what makes a hit. I don’t need it. So I want to work on this with you, to see what comes of it.”

  “Wow,” I said, intimidated. “Leo, I’m not sure I’m qualified for this.”

  “You won’t be alone,” he said. “I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

  I felt not only comfort in that statement, but warmth. Having Leo Armstrong as a mentor on a movie script was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Having Leo Armstrong by my side as I did
anything was more thrilling and exciting than any roller coaster in the world.

  Of course, now that he’d defied my preconceived notions about him, my guilt was slowly crawling back into view again. Guilt over the fact that Leo had entrusted me with more and more aspects of his business and his personal life, while I was…

  Lying. Plain and simple.

  I tried to shake off the nagging sensations of tension that were squeezing me from the inside, but it was hard to do. I almost wished Leo would do something mean again, just to remind me why I was doing any of this.

  I’d always considered myself a pretty honest person, but for the first time I was starting to wonder how that could be true if I was willing to say and do anything for a story and my career.

  The food was served in slow rounds, giving us time to enjoy every bite while talking about the story. We read through sections of it together and I got a feel for the tone. It was definitely more cerebral than any of his other movies, to say the least. He wasn’t joking when he said the majority would be set in the happy, sunny land of Australia.

  Almost three hours passed. I’d been so consumed in talk of the story of Vivian and her true paramour, Ian, that I missed the sunset and couldn't even say how many plates of food we’d gone through. Not to mention the wine and cold sake Leo had ordered.

  “It’s a good thing you have that driver,” I said, feeling tipsy. “It’s a long drive back to Wilshire Boulevard.”

  “Luckily I have a place nearby,” he said.

  I tilted my head. “You have another home?”

  He smiled. “A man of means can’t have just one home, Sophie. What would people think?”

  “It would be so low rent,” I said, taking a last sip of the sake. “And I’m sure this place of yours nearby is on the beach?”

  He spread his hands. “Why bother having a house in Malibu if it’s not on the beach?”

  “Naturally,” I said. “Well, if you can make it back to your place then Steve can drive me to my little shack in Culver City. Or as my roommate likes to call it, Santa Monica adjacent.”

  “Or,” Leo said, “Steve could drive us both down the road to my house.”

  Like I was going to say no? It was Friday night and I had the whole weekend to do nothing—no Kait breathing down my neck, and I could also put off up a little bit longer Ava Marie’s disappointment that I stood her up.

  “Well,” I began, acting as if I was really thinking it over. “I guess we still need to talk about the ending of this thing.” I touched the pages of the still-untitled screenplay.

  “The work never ends, does it?” he said. The way he looked at me, playful with an undeniable dose of want in his eyes, made me want to race back to his house—or anywhere private—and press my lips and body to his and never let go.

  “Tough life,” I said, and within moments, the check was paid, and we were out the door.

  11

  “Oh, I get it now,” I said.

  We walked through the interior of his Malibu home, and across the open living room was a floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall picture window that looked out on a deck and the ocean. When we’d pulled up outside, all I saw was a shortened driveway directly off the busy Pacific Coast Highway, and had thought his place was a small, charming little bungalow. But the way it dropped down and spread over the hill and sand and was more spectacular than I thought.

  Leo slid open the doors, and the rough sound of the waves and the cool breeze of the ocean all came rushing in.

  “Impressed?” Leo asked.

  I shook my head. “You know I am. You don’t have or do anything unless it impresses people.” His grin told me that what I said was true.

  “Come look,” he said, and I followed him out onto the deck.

  Lights shone out over the railing, down onto the beach and the water rolling in not but a few feet away. Leo came up behind me, his arms resting on either side of me on the railing, locking me in as I looked out at the view. His chin brushed my forehead. He covered his hands on mine and I let myself fall back into his chest.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said. He kissed my temple, the heat of his lips on me undeniable. He moved down to my cheek and then my neck, making my eyes roll shut and a deep sigh flow out of out of my mouth. He let his tongue skim my neck, and lightly nipped the skin there, making me want to scream out over the sound of the waves crashing. I’d been kissed on my neck before, but never like that. Leo had a way of doing things to me, making me feel ways I’d never felt before. I tilted my head to the side, giving him more of my neck to kiss and lick and nibble. I pressed into his chest more. Reaching back, I put my hand behind his head, gathering the curls there, and pulled him even closer to me. I would have sworn I could stand there forever, letting his lips taste my skin, and I’d never get tired of it, I’d never get bored, I’d never be able to get enough. His lips moved to my shoulder, and he pulled away the small bit of fabric from my dress so that he didn’t miss a single spot. He took a little bite out of my skin there, and I yelped.

  “Hey,” I said, looking at him. “Careful.”

  “Can’t be,” he said, kissing the same spot. “I want to eat up every part of you.”

  “How do you know all things I want right when I think them?” I turned around to face him, my back to the railing. I leaned toward him, my lips touching his. Despite the cool ocean air all I felt was the warmth of his lips. His tongue touched mine, and I pulled him closer, my hand digging in his hair as his wrapped around my back, pulling my hips toward him. I let my hand drift over his chest, and I longed to feel the skin beneath his shirt. Just as my fingers began playing with the buttons, he stopped me.

  “Wait,” he said. “Come inside.”

  I would have followed him straight out into the ocean if he’d asked.

  I thought he might take him to his bedroom or at least give me a tour of his stunning (second) home, but instead we sat on the white linen couch, a respectable distance between us.

  “Is everything okay?” I asked, suddenly nervous. Was he going to tell me that he didn’t want to see me anymore, or worse—that he knew who I was?

  “Of course,” he said, reaching for my hand. I instinctively moved closer to him; he put his other hand on top of mine and held tight. With his eyes down on our hands, he said, “I don’t want you think I just brought you here to sleep with you, although,” he smiled, “I have to admit it’s on my mind a lot.” I grinned, my chest bursting with the pleasure of knowing I’d been on Leo Armstrong’s mind. He ran his fingers up my arm, sending chills all over my body. “But then I realized,” he said, “that I don’t even know where you’re from. I know somewhere in Maine, but I don’t know what town.”

  I almost laughed. Actually, I think I kind of did. Leo Armstrong wanted to know where I was from? Okay, then. “Mechanicsville, Maine. It’s about as glamorous as it sounds.”

  “Hmm, Mechanicsville,” he said with mock serious. “And I suppose you were raised to be a mechanic?”

  “Way to go for the low-hanging fruit,” I said.

  “An uncreative movie guy,” he joked. “What’d you expect? I need you to edit me.”

  “Very funny,” I said, but I loved the sound of him needing me, even if he was only teasing.

  “Did you always want to be a writer?”

  “This is sounding strangely like a job interview or something.”

  “Or something like a date?” he said. “I’d say a first date but I’m not sure we’ve properly had one so I want make sure I get to know you. Like a normal guy who is seeing a normal girl.”

  “You are so not a normal guy,” I said.

  “And you are no normal girl,” he said, grinning. “So tell me—what’s your favorite movie?”

  “Sure, no pressure,” I said. “Only the movie question.”

  “It doesn’t have to be one of my movies,” he said. “In fact, I’m pretty sure it isn’t.”

  “If this were a job interview, I’d definitely say one of your movies,”
I said. “I’d say, Dangerous Connections. Or maybe No Second Chances. Both visually stunning.”

  “No, come on,” he joked right back with me. “What kind of movies do you like?”

  “This is like when someone asks what kind of music you listen to, and you have to admit that you love pop music more than anything.”

  “I love pop music,” he said, touching his chest. When I gave him a look, he said, “Okay, I think it’s insipid and the end of civilization as we know it but that’s okay. You can still be a normal person and like pop music. Maybe. I don’t know, I might need to think on this one.”

  “Forget it,” I said. “I’m not telling you what my favorite movie is or what kind of music I like.”

  “So you do like pop music?”

  He eyed me closely as I sat for a moment, thinking. Finally I burst out, “Okay, it’s true! I like pop music, which, by the way, means popular music. Lots of people like it. It’s fun and energetic and sometimes the lyrics really speak to me.”

  Leo fell back against the sofa, his hands over his face. “Oh my god, what have I gotten myself into? Next thing I know she’ll be telling me her favorite movie is Maid in Manhattan.”

  “Well, it wasn’t so bad…”

  “Stop! I can’t listen anymore!”

  “Oh, please,” I said. “Coming from the guy whose last movie had more explosions than the last six months’ movies combined. Yeah, that’s art.”

  “Ouch,” he said, clutching his heart. “Hit me where it hurts.”

  I reached over and put my hand over his, over his heart. “Don’t worry. You’ll survive. I bet that thing is made of steel, anyway.” He slid his hand out from under mine, and covered my hand with his. I felt the steady beat of it his heart beneath the soft fabric of his shirt, and once again I wanted to undo those buttons of his. My eyes found his, looking at me so closely, sending a swarm of butterflies into my stomach. His fingertips touched my face, then traced lightly over my lips, which were parted and eager for him to come closer, to cover mine with his.