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
Orlando looks slightly abashed - but only slightly. And his eyes still bear that startling intensity as he stares me down."I'm protecting you," he says, keeping his voice as low as mine. "I made it clear to every member of the cast and crew that I wouldn't tolerate behavior like Ford's, not from anyone.""Did you honestly think Christian was trying something with me?" I demand. "Those were the first words he said to me all day!""I wasn't going to take any chances," he replies. "Not with this.""Why did you even hire him if you thought he was capable of what Ford did?" I ask. "Or are the two of you not actually friends like everyone says?""I have no idea what 'everyone' is saying." He frowns. "But I wouldn't have called him in if I thought he'd cross any lines. But - ""Then you're just jealous." I cross my arms. "Is that it? You don't want any other man to talk to me?"The resulting flash in his eyes makes me suspect I'm pretty dang close to the mark. It's all I can do not to
My approach ends up being fairly simple.I avoid speaking with Orlando the rest of the day. Avoid even looking at him. As far as I'm concerned for the time being, he doesn't even exist.But I'm overly friendly with everyone else. I chat with the crew, even if it's just asking about how certain pieces of equipment work. Between takes, I talk to Omar and Christian. Omar seems more interested in his phone than in holding a conversation, but Christian is willing to speak with me. He throws a few wary glances toward Orlando the first time, but to my disappointment - and Christian's obvious relief - our director isn't intending to charge over here every time a man talks to me, despite his earlier behavior.Damn it, I think as Christian tells me about some upcoming project he's excited about. I was hoping this would be enough. It's really, really hard not to look around for Orlando, to see if he's watching us. It would be encouraging if he were glaring or something.As the day wears on, t
That isn't the last time Orlando and I speak on the phone. He starts calling me every night after filming wraps up for the day. We talk about everything - our favorite books, favorite foods, favorite music. I learn that Orlando is a surprisingly good swimmer, and that he takes camping trips up in Northern California a few times a year. I tell him about my acting debut in Peter Pan and confess that I don't know how to ride a bicycle.More than once, I find myself thinking about what Christian said about Orlando being two different people. He laughs so often during our calls that I'm beginning to wonder how he could ever turn off that humor, even at work. His intensity is still there, though. Every so often he'll say something that launches a surge of heat through me, and my body sends me constant reminders of how much I want him. I start having some pretty wild dreams about him after those calls - dreams that leave me panting and dizzy when I wake in the morning.Sadly, the day I fina
"Incoming call," Orlando growls. "Hold on, let me reject it." A couple of seconds later, he sounds much better. "Now, where were we?""You were telling me to keep touching myself," I say."Oh, yes. Keep touching yourself, but imagine it's me there instead. It's me caressing you between your legs. Me sliding my finger in and out of you. Me massaging your clit with my thumb."I moan again. Imagining him anywhere near me intensifies everything a hundred times. I've never felt anything like this before. He's not even touching me, and I'm falling apart."But I'd do more than that," he says, his voice so raw it's almost unrecognizable. "If I were that close to you, I wouldn't be able to resist leaning down and having a taste. I'd lick you from your clit all the way down to your - "I cry out in pleasure as my climax overtakes me. It comes on so fast, so suddenly, that I don't have time to warn him, let alone try to stop it. All I can do is ride out the pleasure. I buck against the bed,
Apparently, I overestimated my packing abilities when I told Orlando I could be done in half an hour. When the car pulls up the following morning at five-thirty on the dot, I'm still frantically shoving clothes and shoes into my rolling suitcase. I only remember my toiletries bag as I'm rushing out the door, but I guess that's better than forgetting it altogether. Early flights are the work of the devil. Still, as exhausted and frazzled as I am, it's impossible to be in a bad mood. I'm going to L.A. with Orlando, and that's all that matters. Most people would probably call me crazy - and they'd be right. We've only known each other a couple of weeks. Not to mention the fact that he's a celebrity, and we both know he can do much better than me. He'll probably dump me the first time some gorgeous young supermodel bats her eyelashes in his direction. But I can't resist the pull of him. I have to see this through, one way or another. Even if I end up with my heart broken.I'm nearly to