He didn’t know. Couldn’t really remember.
He was sweating though it was cold in here, the temperature hovering only a few degrees above freezing. And yet he was hot inside, a fire raging through his blood.
Didn’t she feel it—the intimate bond that tethered them together?
He leaned closer, and with a trembling finger traced the outline of her cheek. It was warm to his touch.
Then he understood. This was all part of her fantasy. She wanted him to think of her not as Jenna Hughes, but as one of the roles she’d played on the big screen. Wasn’t she dressed as Paris Knowlton, a New Orleans prostitute in Beneath the Shadows? Hadn’t he wanted Jenna to act like Paris tonight? Isn’t that exactly what she was doing? Suddenly he felt better, the warmth running through his veins due to lust and drugs rather than rage.
“Paris,” he cooed, touching her dark hair lovingly. It shimmered a blue-black in the shadowy lights. “I’ve been searching for you.”
Still no response.
Jesus, what did she want? He was playing his part…or was he?
“Jenna?”
Not so much as a glance his way. Anger sparked. It tore through him, his blood suddenly thundering in his ears. “Oh, I get it,” he snarled, his fingers roughly grazing her neck. “You’re really into this, aren’t you? You like acting like a whore.”
He heard a gasp.
Finally!
His fingers surrounded her throat. It was warm to his touch. Pliant. He tried to feel her pulse as his hands pressed against her skin.
A groan.
Pain or desire?
“That’s it, isn’t it? You like it when I’m rough, don’t you?”
“Oh God, no!” Her voice seemed to come from a distance, echoing in his head, bouncing off the walls. “Don’t!”
His grip tightened, sinking into her nearly hot flesh.
“Stop! Please! What are you doing?”
He was so hard he was trembling, but he couldn’t take his hands from her neck, couldn’t unzip his fly. He shook her then and her head wobbled wildly, beautiful green eyes fixed straight at him.
A terrified scream ripped through the room.
Jenna’s head fell backward.
Her neck wobbled in his hands.
Another horrified, panicked shriek ricocheted off the rafters, the sound echoing through his brain.
“Bitch!” He slapped her hard.
Smack! Her face twisted hard to one side.
“Oh God!” There was crying now. Sobbing. “No, no, no!”
Her makeup began to run, her perfect features distorting from the blow. Her hair came loose, the thick black wig falling onto the rumpled mattress, her bald pate visible in the dusky room.
A gasp.
Her head twisted to one side.