Fallen star, p.17
Fallen Star, page 17
He traced the edge of her jaw with his index finger. “It’s really okay, Grace. I understand.”
“Do you?” She searched his eyes, mentally twisting a knife in her own gut for every glimmer of doubt she’d ever seen in them. How could she have been so careless and cruel?
“Yes.” He kissed her forehead.
“You should hate me. Why don’t you hate me?”
“I did at first. Then I just wanted to change your mind. I’ve been trying to change your mind about me ever since.”
She pressed her palms against his chest, curling her fingers into his shirt. “I can’t believe, all this time—is that really how you thought I felt about you?” The idea of it was agony.
He brushed a lock of hair off her face. “When we were at the bar that night, I started to think maybe there could be something more there…” He dropped his hand to his side. “But you were a little drunk, so I wasn’t sure you meant it. And then it felt like you pulled away from me after that.”
She smacked him in the chest. “Only because I thought you were with Poppy!”
“Fair,” he admitted, hanging his head a little. “I sort of fucked that up.”
“Sort of!”
He caught her hand in his. “In my defense, I didn’t know there was anything to fuck up. You haven’t exactly been giving me a lot of encouragement.”
“I was intimidated by you.”
His thumb moved across the palm of her hand. “I don’t believe you. You’re not intimidated by anyone.”
“That’s an act. I was a nervous wreck around you because you’re so, you know, you. And because I could never tell if you were really flirting with me or if you were just being friendly, the way you are with everyone.”
He kissed her lightly on the lips. “I was definitely flirting with you.”
“But you flirt with everyone.”
He kissed her again, a little longer this time. “Not the way I flirt with you.”
“Well, I couldn’t tell the difference.”
One of his hands slipped around her waist and the other came up to stroke her face. He kissed her again, his hips pressing against hers and his tongue sliding into her mouth.
She sank into him, tilting her head and opening up for him. She was clinging to him again, because she was in real danger of swooning at his feet, and she wondered if this was how he did it with all the other women. If he kissed them like this and did that thing he was doing with his tongue, and then they let him do anything he wanted to them. Grace wondered if she was going to let Scott do anything he wanted with her. Probably, as long as he kept kissing her this way.
“Grace,” he murmured.
“Hmmm?”
His mouth moved to her ear. “Can you tell I’m flirting with you now?”
“Mmmm, yeah.”
He laughed softly. “Good.”
She took his face in her hands and tilted it down so she could look into his beautiful, bottomless eyes. “Can you tell I like you now?”
“I don’t know,” he said gravely. “I think I might need another kiss to make sure.”
She pressed her lips to his, her hands on either side of his face, amazed that he was letting her do it after those things she’d said. One of his hands held the back of her neck and the other splayed against the small of her back, pulling her flush against him. He caught her bottom lip between his teeth and—
Someone knocked on the door of the trailer, and they startled apart.
“Hey, Scott, they’re ready for you,” Cal shouted.
“Okay!” Scott shouted back.
“I have to go,” Grace said, stepping past him. Crap. They’d be looking for her on set, wondering where she’d disappeared to.
“Wait,” Scott said.
She waited.
He kissed her again—gently, but taking his time. When he pulled away, he was smiling. “Okay, now you can go.”
Grace ran back to the soundstage with a big dumb grin on her face.
14
Grace couldn’t stop touching her lips. They were still tingling from kissing Scott. She could still taste him too, on the tip of her tongue. The kiss—all of their kisses—kept replaying in her mind, every delicious second. Part of her still couldn’t believe it had really happened.
Instead of dissipating, the butterflies in her stomach had multiplied exponentially. It made her feel intoxicated, but it was a dopamine high instead of an alcohol-induced one. She was having trouble sitting still. She kept squirming, like an impatient puppy who could see a treat just out of reach.
She couldn’t quit smiling either. Every time she looked at Scott, her lips involuntarily curved into a grin. Which was a problem, because she had to look at Scott pretty much constantly. It was sort of her job.
“Someone’s in a better mood,” Joe observed, eyebrows raised, and Grace felt herself blush crimson.
“Finally got enough caffeine,” she muttered, crossing and recrossing her legs as she looked down at her laptop to hide her face.
It didn’t help that Scott kept smiling back at her. Every time he finished a take, his eyes found hers and went all crinkly. God, those crinkles around his eyes. She loved them even more when they were crinkling because of her.
He kept his distance though. Which was good, because she was having a hard enough time acting normal as it was. If he was actually close enough to touch, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to control herself.
“What’s with you today?” Carmen asked accusingly as they were perusing the craft services table.
“Nothing,” Grace said, turning away to snag herself a blueberry yogurt.
“You’re acting weird.”
Grace reached for a spoon. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh my god!” Carmen clamped her hand on Grace’s arm, dragging her around to face her. “Something happened with you and Scott,” she hissed.
“What? No.” Seriously, how did she even do that? Was Grace really being that obvious or did Carmen have some uncanny sixth sense when it came to Grace’s love life?
Carmen pulled herself up to her full five feet three inches and shook a finger that would have made her Mexican abuela proud. “Grace Speer, don’t you dare lie to me.”
Grace glanced around to make sure there was no one in earshot. “We may have kissed,” she admitted quietly.
“I knew it! I knew he liked you!” Carmen bounced on her toes, her face splitting into a grin. “Oh my god, how was it? Tell me everything.”
“It was nice,” Grace said, smiling.
“Tell me about his lips. How do they feel? Is he a good kisser?”
Grace’s smile got even wider. “He’s a great kisser.”
“Oh wow, you really like him, don’t you?” Carmen’s expression shifted to a concerned frown. “Promise me you’ll be careful, okay? Men like that—” She stopped, like she was reconsidering what she was about to say. “Just don’t let him hurt you.”
“It was just a kiss,” Grace said, rolling her eyes.
She wasn’t picking out Save the Date cards or anything. She had no illusions about the likelihood this flirtation with Scott would turn into anything serious. At most, she was hoping to end her six-month dry spell by consummating their flirtation with a night of very hot sex. Maybe even more than one night, if things went well. But beyond that—beyond the end of the shoot—she had no expectations whatsoever.
Carmen shook her head. “It’s never just a kiss.”
Grace got a text from Scott toward the end of the shooting day.
Scott: Why did the chicken cross the playground?
She actually knew this one, so she texted him back the answer.
Grace: To get to the other slide.
A text bubble popped up to let her know he was typing a reply.
Grace waited.
And waited.
And waited some more.
Scott: Can I come over when u get home tonite?
The butterflies in her stomach started doing coordinated aerial maneuvers, with, like, Delta rolls and Yo-Yos. Her fingers trembled as she typed her answer.
Grace: Yes.
Of course shooting ran longer than usual that day. Of course it did.
And of course Ed Dudley decided tonight after they’d finally wrapped for the day was a good time to talk Grace’s ear off about the dangers of pulling focus with a Cine Tape instead of an old-fashioned tape measure. Of course he did. And then Joe wanted her to look at some of the dailies with him, because sure, why not? It wasn’t like she had any reason to want to get out of here tonight.
All of which meant Scott made it home well before she did.
Grace let herself into her house at ten thirty, dropped her bag on the floor by the door, and sprinted upstairs to brush her teeth. Once she’d taken care of her coffee breath, she applied a fresh coat of deodorant and tried to finger-comb some order into her hair, which by this point in the day had begun to resemble a Bichon Frise overdue for a grooming.
Before she had a chance to do anything else, there was a knock on the door downstairs. She’d been home for all of a minute and a half.
Hurrying back downstairs, she opened the door to a smiling Scott.
“Hi,” she said, a little out of breath.
His smile got wider. “Hi.” He was wearing a plain white T-shirt and jeans that looked like they’d been painted on, showing off every bulge and striation. Every bulge.
Grace swallowed and stepped back to let him in, trying to project casual calmness and not the all-consuming panic she was actually feeling. Now that she had him here, she had no idea what to do with him. Drinks were out, obviously. Should she offer him something to eat? What was the standard protocol for booty calls? Because that was what this was, right?
God, she hoped that was what this was.
There wasn’t much in the way of actual food in her house, so she settled on an uncertain, “Do you want some water or something?”
Instead of answering, Scott moved into her space, his hands landing on her hips and urging her backward until he had her up against the wall next to the stairs.
“Hey,” he said, gazing down at her with an intensity that made her giddy.
Grace took a shaky breath. “Hey.”
Nervous didn’t even begin to cover her current state of mind. It had been about, oh, two hundred and seventeen days since she’d done this—not that she was counting or anything—and a lot longer than that since she’d done it with anyone besides Chris. She’d forgotten what it was like to sleep with anyone else.
Scott Deacon was not just some ordinary anyone else either. He was the equivalent of going from junior varsity soccer straight to the World Cup. It was terrifying, but also not an opportunity anyone in their right mind would pass up. This was one of those moments that demanded to be seized with both hands. When Scott freaking Deacon was looking at you with sex in his eyes, you’d have to be crazy not to YOLO that shit. Wouldn’t it be a crime against all womankind not to ride him like a John Deere? Carpe fucking diem.
Also? He smelled really good, and at this point Grace was convinced it wasn’t cologne but some kind of, like, natural pheromone that made women lose control in his presence. More particularly, it made her lose control.
So she grabbed him and kissed him. Hard.
His mouth was hot and tasted of spearmint and something unmistakably Scott. She lapped it up, arching her body against his, and he pressed into her, pinning her against the wall as their mouths slid together. The man could kiss, that was for damn sure. Grace couldn’t wait to find out what else he could do.
Her fingers dug into his sides, tugging at the bottom of his T-shirt, and he pushed away from her suddenly and reached behind his back, dragging his shirt off over his head.
Grace’s brain fuzzed into static at the sight of his bare chest and shoulders and—my god, those abs. She was definitely going to lick those abs tonight. For science.
When he pressed into her again, and his bare skin touched her skin, it was like a religious experience. Her hands moved worshipfully over the hard ridges of his stomach, awed that she was actually allowed to touch.
She could feel Scott smile against her mouth when he kissed her again, holding her face in both hands. He nipped at her lower lip, then soothed it with his tongue, and she melted against him, knees weak, moaning into his mouth.
“Grace,” he murmured in a voice rough with promise. “Do you want to show me your bedroom?”
She did. She really, really did.
Taking him by the hand, she led him up the stairs. When they reached the threshold of her room, she felt a little like a skydiver staring down the open door of an airplane. One more step and she would be in free fall, hurtling toward an unknown destination.
Scott eased up behind her, his hands flattening out over her stomach as he kissed the back of her neck. His body was solid and heavy against hers, radiating heat, and she leaned back against him, closing her eyes on a long, contented exhale as his hands roamed over her hips and rib cage.
Just when she was in danger of sliding to the floor in a dreamy puddle, he spun her around in his arms and lowered his mouth to hers. She made an embarrassing noise in the back of her throat, and he deepened the kiss, bending her head back as the sharp edges of his teeth grazed her lips.
Her hands groped his chest shamelessly, appreciating the way the muscles flexed under her fingers. Her plaid shirt was already hanging open over her tank top, and Scott pushed it off her shoulders, running his hands down her bare arms. She clutched at him as he kissed her again and again, bottomless, bruising kisses interspersed with lighter, broken-up kisses that left her limbs quivering.
His fingers toyed with the hem of her tank top for what felt like an eternity before he finally lifted it over her head. Grace’s 34As weren’t much to get excited about—especially not compared to the parade of busty Hollywood babes who’d undoubtedly passed through Scott’s bed—but his eyes devoured every modest curve and valley that showed through her black lace bralette.
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he slid a finger under one of the satin shoulder straps. Then his hand slid down her chest, his fingertips skimming over her breast. Testing. Exploring.
“I like this.” He slipped a finger underneath and gave the elastic fabric a little tug. “Easy access.” His voice sounded low and husky, and it did things to Grace’s self-control.
Hooking her fingers into the waistband of his jeans, she tugged him closer and pressed her face into his throat, closing her eyes as she breathed him in. She kissed him just below the corner of his jaw and his pulse jumped under her lips, kissing her back. His bristly neck prickled her skin and she rubbed her nose against it, relishing the sensation.
They hadn’t even made it into the bedroom yet.
Scott’s hand cupped her breast, his thumb circling her nipple, and Grace clutched at him. Standing was becoming too much of a chore, especially when her bed was so near. She took a tripping step backward, dragging him along with her, and they shuffled into the room together. When the back of her legs hit the mattress, he guided her down onto the rumpled sheets she hadn’t bothered to make up this morning.
He didn’t seem to mind her poor housekeeping habits as he bent over her, caging her between his strong arms. She slid her hands up his biceps, enjoying the unyielding contours of muscle, then remembered her earlier promise to herself and scooted down on the bed until her face was lined up with his stomach.
Grasping his waist, she arched her torso up and pressed her mouth against his abdomen. A tremor shuddered through him and she wrapped her arms around him, holding him tighter. Pleased with the results of her experiment, Grace trailed her tongue over the grooves between his abdominal muscles, starting just under his rib cage and working her way down.
When she dipped below his navel, finding the light trail of hair that disappeared into the waistband of his pants, he gave another shudder and reached around behind him to capture her hands. Pushing her back onto the bed, he held her hands above her head, pinning them in place as his body pressed into hers, the full length of him weighing down on her.
She wriggled and squirmed beneath him—not to get away, but to feel the delicious grind of his body against hers, and the rasp of denim over denim as their jeans rubbed together like a pair of high-schoolers. He kissed her throat, his fingers tightening on hers, and she let out a shaky breath. His mouth was soft and wet as it trailed over her skin, his breath hot and lascivious, raising blisters of desire everywhere it touched her.
“You taste even better than I imagined,” he whispered as his tongue dipped between her breasts.
“You imagined the way my skin tastes?”
His teeth nipped at her through her bralette, just the right side of rough. “I imagined a lot more than that.”
Grace inhaled sharply, squirming against his hold on her, and Scott laughed as he easily held her fast.
“Too many pants,” she told him, giving up her struggle. “I need to feel you.”
“So impatient.” He shook his head at her, but let go of her hands to unfasten her jeans and peel them off her legs along with her underwear.
“Now you,” she said eagerly as she kicked them onto the floor.
Scott slid off the bed, unbuttoned his jeans, and pushed them down to his ankles, exposing thick, muscular legs. Grace went a little cross-eyed imagining those thighs between hers—along with what lay beneath the large bulge at the front of his tight-fitting black boxer briefs.
She tried to reach for him, but he crawled back on top of her, clasping both her hands in one of his and pinning them above her head again.
She blew a frustrated breath through her teeth. “Why won’t you let me touch you?”
“I will.” He slid his hand up the outside of her thigh, his callused fingers raising goose bumps as they dragged across her skin. “I just want to appreciate you first.”
Fighting the urge to squirm, she lay still while his eyes raked over her, consuming every inch of her body in a thorough perusal that was as intimate as anything she’d ever experienced.
