“What did you think of them?”
“I’d seen one before. I hadn’t seen the other and didn’t realize that you got naked in it.”
He shrugs. “And?”
“It was…uncomfortable.” I bite my lip, thinking about how I felt watching him seemingly make love to someone else. “You’re a good actor, I’ll give you that.”
“So, let me tell you what really goes down in those scenes,” he says and sets his own empty plate on the floor. “There were sixteen people in the room. Yes, I counted. It was cold, and I asked them to turn up the heat, but the soundstage we were on was just drafty, and there wasn’t much they could do about it.
“So, Krista, my co-star, was also naked and not entirely comfortable with it.”
“Why?”
“This was the day after we’d met for the first time,” he replies. “We didn’t know each other well, and she’s actually kind of shy. So, I was doing my best to keep her covered and hidden from the crew. Between takes, I’d reach for a blanket and throw it over her while the crew made adjustments and stuff.”
“Not exactly romantic.”
He takes my hand and kisses my knuckles. “No. Not to mention, she’s married in real life with three kids. One of her kids had the flu, and she was worried about her, but you’d never know it from her performance. She is a professional, through and through.”
“You like her.”
“I do.” He falls back against the pillows, crossing his arms behind his head. His biceps flex, making my mouth water. “I respect her as an actor and as a person. She’s nice. So, anyway, that scene took two days to shoot, and it wasn’t even an eighth as sexy as they made it look in the movie.”
“Interesting.”
“If you ever want to, you’re welcome to come to the set and watch.”
I sigh, rub my hands over my face, then stand and gather our plates and take them out to the kitchen and walk back again, trying to pull my thoughts together. I lean on the doorjamb, watching him. He hasn’t moved.
“I don’t think there will ever come a day that I’ll ask to go with you on set to watch you pretend that you’re fucking another woman.”
He starts to speak, but I hold up my hand.
“I know it’s not real. And I’m not calling it cheating or wrong or anything like that. It’s fiction, and it’s part of your job. But I don’t want to watch it in live action.”
“Come here.”
I climb back onto the bed, but before I can snuggle up next to him, he pins me to the mattress and pulls the covers over us completely as if we’re in a blanket fort.
“It is my job,” he says softly as his eyes travel over my face. “And I love my job. But I don’t love it more than you.”
“Christian—”
“Shh.” He kisses me, then bites my lower lip. “It’s my turn to talk now. You’re welcome to come and watch whatever you want. I’ll never hide anything. And if you don’t want to, that’s okay, too.”
“Thank you.”
“But the kissing in roles, and sometimes the racier scenes will happen.”
“I know.”
“Are you okay?” He brushes his nose against mine in that way he does that makes my knees weak.
“Yes.”
“You need to know,” he begins as he kisses my neck, reawakening my body in all the right places, “that when I’m doing my job, I don’t feel like this.” He presses his hard-on against my inner thigh. “And I don’t look at my co-stars the way I look at you.”
“I know that, too,” I reply and cup his face in my hands. “I thought of that last night when we were skating. Because I won’t lie, I didn’t love watching you with other women on-screen. But then, when we were skating, it occurred to me that the look on your face in the movie wasn’t even close to the same as when you’re looking at me. And that’s really all I need to know, Christian.”
“You take my breath away,” he whispers and sinks into me. Where the kitchen was playful and even a bit frantic, this is slow. Private. Loving and sensual.
And damn it, I can’t get enough of him.
I never want this to end.
Chapter Fifteen
~Christian~
“I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU’RE craving ice cream in the middle of a blizzard,” I say as I maneuver my rented SUV down the mountain. Jenna smirks at me in that way she does that makes me want to pull the car over, yank her into my lap, and kiss the fuck out of her.
“This isn’t a blizzard, city boy,” she says. “This is snow.”
“Cold snow,” I remind her. “And now you want ice cream.”
“The cravings for ice cream don’t stop with the seasons,” she says reasonably and shifts in her seat to face me. “Are you telling me that in the summer in L.A. you stop eating hot food?”