“Yes,” she murmured. Her fingers released his hair and slid down the bare skin at his back and around to his chest. Her fingers pressed into his pecs as if she wasn’t sure if she wanted to hold on to him or thrust him away.
“Give it your best shot, honey.”
…
Chrissie struggled to recall why she needed to push the hard wall of muscle away. She’d rather stay right here, stuck between a rock and a hard place. She glanced down at his hips which, moments earlier, had been rubbing up against her as if he didn’t give a damn about her clothes or the camera
s…
The cameras.
Her music video.
Oh no.
She shoved hard against his chest. He stepped back, but she went with him.
Take your love…
The lyrics she’d written in response to her label’s demands for an upbeat love-em’-and-leave-em’ number ran through her head. She took a step forward, her gaze locked on Dante’s chiseled features.
And leave my heart…
But what she felt, the desire pulsing through her, shredding her concentration in the middle of this expensive shoot—this wasn’t love. Her heart wasn’t invested. It was pure lust.
But what did she know about love and lust? She’d spent the past six months on the road. The nine months before that in a recording studio. Her music career consumed her life and erased time for boyfriends. And the few men she’d dated before, back in Florida, they hadn’t felt like this.
“Cut!”
Chrissie dropped her hands and stepped back. She turned to the director and reaching for the professional persona she wore like a shield. Lust. Love. Heartbreak. She didn’t have time to experience those emotions firsthand. She couldn’t allow messy feelings to distract her from her career. Sure, heartbreak might lead to strong lyrics. But what if it didn’t? She couldn’t risk her family’s future on her desire for a man who planned to deploy as soon as his knee healed.
No, Chrissie Tate, country starlet, needed to keep singing and producing hits. The five people she loved with all her heart were counting on her. She refused to let them down. They’d already suffered too much—losing a son, a brother, a friend.
Rick, the director foisted on her by her label, gave her a smile that fell short of genuine. “Chrissie, you nailed it on the first try.” He stopped by her side and turned to Dante. “And you have raw talent.”
You have no idea, Mr. Director. You didn’t kiss him.
She glanced at her bodyguard and swore she saw a flush creeping up his cheeks. She had a feeling “country music video star” wasn’t something he wanted on his resume alongside “fighting terrorists” and “rescuing the innocent.”
“So we’re done?” Chrissie said, her tone firm but polite. “Ahead of schedule?”
“We have what we need for today. I’ll talk to your manager about the vocal track.” The director turned and headed for Mason, who’d stupidly worn a three-piece suit to the desert.
“Time to head back to the hotel and get ready for the show.” She turned to the small tent where she’d stashed her bag, grabbed a bottle of water, and tossed one to Dante.
“Thanks.” He set it aside and reached for his shirt. “I’m riding back with you.”
Great. Thirty minutes trapped in a car with a man who’d nearly given her an orgasm against the canyon wall. Chrissie headed for the parking area and the blue luxury sedan the hotel had graciously lent her.
“I suppose you want to drive?” she said when they reached the car.
He shook his head. And for the first time, she noticed he was shifting his weight to his left leg. Had today been too much for his injured knee?
She pushed the thought aside as she settled into the driver’s seat. He should have said something if his knee was bothering him. He could have asked for a break. They would have needed to do a second take. But still, he shouldn’t have ignored the pain.
Or maybe he was too caught up in his body’s reaction to that kiss…
“I’m sorry,” he said as she steered the car onto the main road.