"Did you study Shakespeare, then?" I ask Orlando, longing to hear more."I took a couple courses about his work back during film school," he says. "But most of my love for him comes from my father. He's a huge theater buff. He was taking me to see plays by Shakespeare and Beckett and some of the other greats by the time I was seven years old." His mouth curls up slightly. "He did it with all of us kids, but it really stuck with me. And Dante - a little anyway. We still go to the theater together a few times a year - my father really likes all the high-brow stuff. Sometimes he even convinces my mother to come along."I grin. His answer has brought up a dozen more questions, but before I get the chance to utter them, he speaks again."What about you, then?" he asks. "If you don't want to act, then what do you want to do? What did you study?""I didn't study anything exciting," I tell him. "I finished up my master's in visual marketing last year, and right now I'm willing to take any
The following morning, at approximately five o'clock, someone calls to inform me that filming for the day has been canceled. And that, for my convenience, my car has been towed - at the production company's expense - to a spot just outside Justin's building. I'm told that I'll be contacted with the new schedule by tomorrow, and honestly, I'm relieved to have an extra couple of days of rest and recovery without having to deal with my car, the movie, or any of the complicated emotions the last twenty-four hours have brought up. Besides, Justin and I promised to go see Dad today.We arrive at the hospital together late in the afternoon. Like everyone else, I hate hospitals. But I love seeing my dad, even if he's only a shadow of the man he once was. There's still plenty of spark left in him. And I like being able to cheer up Mom, too.Justin and I don't really talk to each other as we head to Dad's room. We've made this visit together a dozen times before, and we ran out of comforting t
"I return Fiona's almost-smile, feeling that odd combination of sick and excited again. Fiona won't be any more explicit than she already has been, but she's given me the answer as best she can."Thank you," I tell her. Then quickly add, "For watching after my dad, of course.""Just doing my job." She's already bent her head over the computer again. I turn and head back toward Dad's room.So my suspicions were right. I don't know how I feel about that - my emotions are too jumbled to make much sense. I still don't really understand why Orlando would do something this huge for me, even if he feels guilty about what happened last night.I try not to let it disrupt my afternoon with my parents. They look so happy and relieved that I don't want to spoil the mood with my confused feelings. My dad looks better than he has in a long time, and I'd do anything to keep that spark in his eyes, even accept charity from Orlando Fontaine.Justin and I hang out for a few hours, talking about our
Orlando barely has time to straighten fully before I launch myself at him and throw my arms around his neck, squeezing tight. I kiss him on one cheek, then the other, then the first cheek again. I want to cover his face in kisses, but I pull back before I let myself do anything too inappropriate."Thank you," I tell him. "You have no idea what this means to us." I know I'm supposed to be angry, or at least slightly offended - my family never asked for his charity, and he did it without even a word to me - but I can't seem to muster even the tiniest bit of outrage. In fact, I'm pretty sure I feel tears welling up in my eyes, as embarrassing as that is.Orlando hasn't moved. He's so warm, so solid, and for a moment I'm overwhelmed by that delicious, manly scent of him. My heart is beating so fast that I wouldn't be surprised if he can feel it where our chests are pressed together. I want to hold onto him forever, to forget my despair of the last few days and weeks and months and lose m
Orlando looks surprised for a moment but recovers quickly."Nadia and I are old friends," he says. "Sometimes we have fun together when we find ourselves in the same city. We've met up a handful of times in the past week, but she flew back to L.A. yesterday."I nod, trying to process everything. Finally, I say, "Why are you telling me all of this? To try and scare me away?"He's close to me again, but somehow I didn't even see him move."Are you scared?" he asks. "Has this made you think twice about offering to let me bend you over this table?"Yes, it has. I've only known this man a week, and I'm beginning to believe his implication that I've bitten off more than I can chew. At the same time, though, all this talk about sexual release has made all the blood rush between my legs. The heat in his eyes isn't helping, either. Whether it's wise or not, I want him. And it's hard to deny that when he's staring at me like he wants to devour me whole."What if it hasn't?" I ask him. Mayb
The movies lie. They make it look so easy and empowering to walk away from the guy who gets your panties in a twist. In reality, you spend the whole time alternating between wanting to run back to him and berating yourself for being an idiot. I don't feel empowered at all. Just a little nauseated, actually. And sweaty, of course.The movies don't usually focus much on the time after the whole "walking away" thing, either - at least not enough to prepare me for the torture of the next couple of days. In the movies, the girl makes her big exit, then she waits smugly for the man to realize what he has to lose. One grand romantic gesture later, and the two of them are free to live happily ever after.In reality, the girl doesn't feel so smug. In fact, she probably eats an entire sleeve of sandwich cookies by herself. And tries to distract herself with hours of cute puppy videos online. And then replays their one toe-curling kiss over and over again in her head until she's so tingly that
Orlando chuckles again, and my heart speeds up. "You're not going to make this easy for me, are you?""No." My courage is building again. After all, I've already embarrassed myself plenty in front of this man - what more do I have to lose?"Maggie..."He says my name like a caress, and I'm glad I'm sitting down. I'm not sure my legs would support me."Maggie, if you weren't working on my film, the devil himself couldn't keep me from kissing you again.""Just kissing?"Another wicked chuckle. "Far more than kissing. But we'd start there."I tug at the corner of one of the sofa cushions. "And then?"He pauses. "Where are you right now?""At home. On the couch.""Are you alone?" His voice is thick, even a little rough."Yes," I tell him. "All alone."Another pause. "You can still hang up, Maggie.""No," I tell him. "I'd rather hear what you'd do to me after the kissing."I can sense him struggling with himself, even though his end of the line is silent. I didn't mean for thi
The set is controlled chaos, as usual. I stand near the windows, my eyes searching the bustling crowd for Orlando. I don't see him, but I do spot Omar Walson sitting in a canvas chair off to the side. Next to him is his new costar, Christian Tremont.Christian, all things considered, bears many similarities to Ford - height, build, brown hair. But while Ford had the too-polished look of a game show host, Christian is a little more rugged around the edges. His teeth aren't nearly as white, his face not as perfectly symmetrical, but somehow those imperfections make him far more attractive.Omar and Christian chat quietly with each other, and though I consider creeping closer and eavesdropping on them, I don't get the chance. Just as I take a step in their direction, Orlando's voice carries through the lobby."Okay, everyone. We've got a long day ahead of us, so let's get this started."My heart leaps at the sound of his voice. I turn, scanning the crowd for him, and that fist-squeezi