For Us (The Girl I Loved Duet Book 2)

by Penny Wylder

  “I think you just created my new favorite drink,” I say, laughing.

  He takes a sip of his own drink. “I hope so.”

  "So you wanted to talk."

  "You did too," he says immediately.

  "Yeah, I did."

  He takes another sip of his drink in a sharp movement. "I want to know why you thought I was quitting the show. You honestly thought I'm so unprofessional that I'd quit the best thing that's happened to both of us in our careers over a fight?"

  "I found your script in the hall. You'd just said that if I wanted you gone then you'd go. I didn't know if you would ever come back, and you didn't answer my phone calls for two days. What was I supposed to think?"

  Peter grimaces. "I was angry and frustrated. I threw it down because it was the only thing I had to throw. I didn't mean for it to be a bad omen."

  "It scared the shit out of me," I say, emotion suddenly welling up. "I knew that I fucked up the minute you were out the door. You were gone. I went after you, but you weren't there. I'm sorry, Peter. I really am. I was so scared that you and I would lose everything that I wasn't thinking straight. We could have worked everything out if I had just stayed calmer, not assumed anything."

  "I'm sorry too, but just saying that we're sorry to each other isn't going to be enough," he says, voice low.

  "I know."

  He clears his throat, looks away. "I did a lot of thinking while I wasn’t answer your calls. I went through everything a thousand times. And I decided that I would stay away, if that's what you really wanted. I convinced myself that I could keep it cool and professional. But today...with that kiss. I can't."

  My body relaxes. "Thank God."

  "But Amber," he says, "things have to be different. I lost you twice now and both times it's felt like dying. I can't do that again, not like this. If we're together, and somewhere down the line we decide it's not working, I'll hate that, but I'll understand. I can't have the ground ripped out from under me again."

  He pauses, like he's waiting for me to protest, but I don't. I nod, waiting for him to go on.

  "I love you. That hasn't changed. But I need you to promise me that you're not going to do that. I need your word that if you have doubts, if you’re panicking, that you'll come to me and we'll talk about it. We'll figure something out together. Because I can't. I can't."

  His voice is so desperate that I have to look away. "I'm sorry."

  Peter takes my hand under the table. "I know, and I'm sorry for walking away. I never should have done that." He leans close, and from a distance it probably looks like he's whispering in my ear in the loud club, but his lips brush the skin beneath my ear. "But I still want you. You know I've always wanted you."

  I blink away the tears in my eyes. "Yes, please. I'm—"

  He squeezes my hand and weaves his fingers in between mine. "I know. You don't have to keep saying it."

  I squeeze his hand back as I swallow the word ‘sorry’. “I promise. I’m not going to do that again. I’ll come to you.”

  “If I have my way, you won’t have to come to me,” he says, “because I’ll just be with you.”

  There's nothing that I want to do more than kiss him, but we have other things to talk about. Like kissing in public. I look out at the crowd, but no one seems to be paying attention to us. "I'm still scared," I say. "I don't just want to be another female director who fell for an actor."

  "You know I won't let that happen," he says, thumb brushing the skin of my hand. That tiny gesture feels so intimate, and even though we're both holding ourselves back, my body warms, and I feel myself lean towards him.

  "I know."

  "But," he says, "I also understand where you're coming from. And I think you're right, for now."

  "What do you mean?" I'm relaxed enough not that I can take a sip of my drink. Finally. I take another big swig because now that I'm not sick with nerves, I want the sweet fuzziness that comes with being tipsy, with Peter by my side.

  "I mean that we're both still in a precarious place. Once the show premieres, or even after this showing that Michael told me about, if those things go well, we'll have a lot more leeway. We could even do a fun interview about how we fell in love again on set, talk about our history, and come out as a public couple in a way that people will like and respect, instead of getting caught and ending up in the tabloids."

  I can see it now, a sweet set interview side by side, with Peter and me holding hands, laughing, with good soundbites. "That makes a lot of sense."

  "If you think you can stomach being in secret for a while."

  "Yeah, definitely. I had no idea how we would ever be able to be public, so that works nicely. But that doesn't mean I want to stop now."

  Peter leans closer, and I'm aware of how close our bodies are. Probably too close given what we're discussing, but I can't care. "Neither do I. We just need to be aware of the risk. And if something does happen, if our picture ends up in the paper, it won't be the same."

  "You can't know that," I say, that familiar terror rising up in me. It could be exactly like that.

  "I do know that. First, you're not sleeping with an eighteen-year-old boy. Second, the moment any paper releases a picture of us, I will go on record confirming our relationship, and I will make sure the world knows that you're not a director that's gotten swept away by her leading man. That we have a history that's been re-kindled. It will be fine and perfect, and the most important thing is that we're going to deal with it together, if it happens."

  I nod, because his words calm that fear. I thank the universe that we were thrown together, because there's never been any person in the world that has the ability to calm me down like Peter. His presence is like an anchor that I've been missing. And I like to think that I'm his balloon. I lift him up when he gets to wrapped up in himself or in the things that have happened to him. So much has happened to him, and to me. I close my eyes against tears again. I'm not going to cry. I'm not going to. I take another sip of my drink and lean as close as I dare. "I missed you."

  "Even for only two days?"

  "Yes."

  Peter's hand tightens on mine. "God, I want to kiss you," he says, and that heat returns to my body, between my thighs.

  "I want to do more than kiss you," I say.

  His chuckle is dark, and his gaze travels down me again. "Today, after that kiss, I had to go to my trailer. I was so hard that I had to get myself off, otherwise I would have gone back inside and kissed you again."

  I raise an eyebrow. "Oh?"

  "I very much liked that lipstick you were wearing today. I like the lipstick you're wearing now, too."

  "What were you imagining that involved my lipstick?"

  He leans in again, another whisper in my ear. "How amazing it would look if your lipstick were smudged all over my hard cock. Your lips be wrapped around it."

  I can feel my pulse pounding in my ears and between my legs as he leans back, casually swirling his drink before taking a sip. God, I want that. I haven't been able to explore him again. Not the way I want to. I want to feel every part of him until I have him memorized just as well as I did ten years ago. That includes having his cock between my lips, in my mouth, down my throat. I'm blushing again, and Peter is grinning because he saw the way I just squirmed in my seat.

  "PETER HOLLEMAN!" Clay Markham calls from across the room. He's moving across the dance floor, and I can see from here that he's monumentally drunk. Peter slips his hand away from mine with a quick smile. So it begins.

  "Mr. Markham," Peter says as Clay reaches the table and slides in next to me, tossing an arm around my shoulder. "You know, when I cast you I knew you were good. But Amber here told me that you delivered, and she was right. You're a very talented young man. Gonna go places!"

  Peter chuckles, raising his glass to Clay. "Thank you very much."

  "This one too," he says, pulling me close enough that I can smell the tequila on his breath. "She's gonna go places too, as long as she's careful!
This is going to do big things for her. Sexy too."

  I laugh off his remarks and pull away. Clay is always flirty and overly touchy and complimentary when he's drunk. Tonight is the first night that's felt a bit weird. Under the table, Peter's hand lands on my thigh, both a reassuring gesture and one that makes me realize how close his fingers are to my pussy. "Amber is very talented,” he says, “and it has nothing to do with her being sexy. Though she is."

  "Oh, of course!" Clay says loudly. "But yes, she is. One can be sexy and talented at the same time. Just like me. Just like you, Peter Holleman." Everybody laughs. "Someday," Clay continues, "I'll get to direct you, Peter Holleman. It will be great. We'll be great."

  Peter nods. "It will be an honor."

  "You bet your sweet, tight ass it will."

  And then he's lurching back onto the dance floor, accepted by a bunch of smiling people, and he dances with all of them.

  "Working with him must have been an adventure."

  "It certainly wasn't boring," I say, knocking back the rest of my drink in one go.

  His hand rubs my thigh again and I'm thinking about other, dirtier things. "Are you okay? He was getting close."

  "Yeah, I'm fine. He's like that when he's drunk. He's never so much as mentioned the fact that I'm sexy when he's sober."

  Peter frowns. "That doesn't make it okay."

  "There's not really a good time to bring it up." He still doesn't look happy, but he nods. I lean forward so that this time I'm the one whispering in his ear. "But I like that you're protective of me."

  "I am," he says. "From everyone and everything." And then under his breath, “Especially from him.”

  I look up and see Michael almost at our table. “What?”

  “I’ll tell you later.”

  Michael smiles at us as he steps up to the table. “My two stars.”

  I haven’t interacted with Michael much, but he strikes me as a typical Hollywood agent: A little slimy, but in a way that gets the job done. But I don’t like that smile.

  Peter smiles easily. “Hello, Michael.”

  I nod to him. He slides into the booth, but thankfully not nearly as close as Clay did. “Michael said he’d mentioned our idea to you.”

  “He did. I’m definitely interested. I like working with Peter. Are you thinking that it will be a formal agreement?”

  “Right now we’re just floating an idea. Does a creative partnership feel like something that would be beneficial to both of you?”

  “I think it could be good. There’s a lot of trust that goes into creating something, and the better you know someone, the faster you can get past the awkwardness and into making something that’s really good.”

  “I agree,” Peter says.

  “Excellent,” Michael says, “In that case—”

  “That said,” Peter interrupts, “there will have to be some caveats.”

  “Of course.” Michael looks a little miffed, like he’s offended that Peter would interrupt him to say that, but he recovers well. “What would they be?”

  “The entire idea is for us to find projects for us to work on and both creatively fulfilled, but all projects have to be mutually agreed upon by both Amber and me. There won’t be any penalties if either one of us decides to do a project individually, and finally, if either of us think that the partnership isn’t working, there won’t be any penalties for dissolving it.”

  Michael narrows his eyes, and I see his jaw tighten. “If those are the caveats, then it might be better to have a verbal agreement.”

  I tilt my head. “Why?”

  He matches my stare. “If you both can do whatever you want, then what’s the point? The goal of this was to create a combined brand for the two of you, but if neither of you want that, it’s a moot point.”

  “Hold on,” Peter says, holding up a hand. “I think it’s okay to create a partnership and a reputation for working together without taking away both of our options.”

  “I agree,” I say. “I would love to collaborate, but I don’t want to take away the possibility of working on a project that I love that Peter isn’t right for. And the same for him. I would never want to take a part away from him because I’m not the right person or don’t have enough clout to direct a project.” I internally shake my head. If I made that bargain, I’d be cutting Peter off from more than half of the parts he could get.

  Michael sighs. "Well then, we'll definitely stick to a verbal agreement."

  I glance over at Peter, who looks back at me with a stunned look on his face. "Michael, this is the best interest of both of us, and it was your idea. You seem unhappy."

  "I was envisioning you two heading an empire of movies together, not just working together whenever you damn well please."

  I see the shock roll through Peter, and then the way he goes still and cold. "How much have you had to drink tonight?" he asks pointedly.

  "Clearly not enough," Michael says, knocking back the rest of whatever is in his glass and motioning to a nearby waitress to bring him another.

  "Yeah," Peter says, "You have. Michael, do me a favor? Fuck off until you're sober. I'll call you tomorrow."

  Michael laughs darkly and shakes his head. "You think you can talk to me like that? I made you."

  "Okay." Peter takes my hand and guides me out of the booth. "You stay right there, we'll be right back."

  We're halfway through the crowd before I can get myself together enough to ask, "What the hell is going on?"

  "He doesn't look like it, but he's trashed," Peter says, voice flat. "I don't think I've ever been around him when he's been drunk. Only tipsy, if that. He needs to go home, and like hell was I going to leave you with him while I get security."

  In the chaos of the crowd, I weave our fingers together. "Thank you."

  We make it to the bar, and Peter explains what's happening with Michael. The bartender clearly knows who Peter is, and within minutes we watch as two very large security guys approach Michael and escort him out of the bar. I thought he might fight it, but he goes quietly, though that might have something to do with the firm hands that they each have on his shoulders.

  "That was...really weird," I say.

  The bartender deposits two more of our drinks in front of us and I take a long, delicious sip of the purple one. I'm definitely starting to feel it now, but I'm not so drunk that I don't think Michael is a fucking creep, and before I know it, I'm saying that out loud.

  "Yeah," Peter says. "I'm going to talk to him. He's been acting strange recently, and not a kind of strange I'm comfortable with."

  "What were you going to tell me later?"

  He nods. "Yeah, ever since the first day on set, Michael has been on this tear, convinced that I was going to sleep with you. It doesn't matter that it was true. He was really overly interested in our past, and I made it crystal fucking clear that our personal history was none of his business. But he hasn't let it go. I thought when he brought up the partnership that he had kind of...gotten his shit together. Clearly not."

  "I'm sorry."

  Peter waves a hand. "It's fine. I'll talk to him when he's not six martinis in and make sure we're on the same page. If not...I'll figure it out."

  "Yeah, but it still sucks."

  He smiles. "Yeah, it still sucks.”

  My head feels pleasantly light, and I think about when I went into the bathroom earlier, what I heard. I'm also thinking about Peter's hand on my thigh and how I want his hands other places. I need him, and even though I need to be careful, I don't think I want to wait until we get to my house. "You remember when you got here and I was bright red?" I ask him, aware that the first drink is hitting me all at once in a way that I really like.

  "I do remember that," he says, leaning closer. I notice he keeps his body just inches from mine, like he's leaning closer just to hear me speak. We both know that it's more than that. This is kind of exciting. Like we have a secret from the world. A secret identity, but sexy. A sexy identity.

  "I
went into the bathroom to fix my lipstick, and there were people in the stalls."

  Peter raises an eyebrow. "That is usually how a bathroom works."

  I laugh. "Not like that. There were two people in one stall, and they were having sex. Can you imagine that?"

  Peter's eyes go dark. "Yes. I'm imagining that right now."

  "I was hoping that you would say that."

  "Really?" His smile is slow and seductive, and I feel it shiver through me, making me wetter than I already was.

  "Really," I say. Taking my drink, I finish it in one long sip, and lean into him. "I'm going to go to the bathroom. Meet me there. Soon. But not so soon that people notice."

  Peter doesn't take his eyes off me as I slip off the bar stool and grab my clutch. I give him a sexy look over my shoulder as I slip into the crowd of people, and I can feel the intensity of his gaze from here. It's hot and hungry and I'm vibrating with the energy he's sending me. God, I want him.

  The bathroom muffles the sound of the pounding music, and I check under the stall doors before going into the handicap stall. I hang my bag on the back of the door and lean against the wall, swaying with the muffled beat. I don’t lock the stall. Not until I hear the door open and the sound of footsteps. Peter comes into the stall and I lock it behind him seconds before he has me pressed up against the door and is kissing me.

  Everything is sheer heat. It’s not restrained like the kiss we had this morning. We’re both a little drunk, a little sloppy, and both starving for each other. It’s been three days without him touching me and I need him everywhere.

  I open my mouth underneath his, and his tongue strokes across mine. I swear I feel it on my clit. I’m shivering and I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him closer. His arms are on my back leaving trails of fire on my skin.

  Peter’s lips move to my neck, and I moan. “God.”

  “Yes?”

  I giggle, the sound echoing around the bathroom. “More, please.” But then I see him, and I laugh harder.

  “What?”

  “You’re going to have to wipe your mouth. My lipstick is all over you.”

  Peter goes still, and his fingers tighten on my skin. I remember what he told me earlier about smudged lipstick, and a sheer wave of desire goes through me. “Oh.”