Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 63716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
“I don’t fuck around with production assistants as a rule,” I snapped.
“Oh yeah? Then what am I?”
She was an enigma. I couldn’t figure her out. She gave zero fucks. Fearless and unexpectedly vulnerable. Beautiful and thorny. Even now, she was smug and weary at the same time. Like I’d disappointed her when she hadn’t even given me the chance to. And she was standing only inches away.
“You’re the exception,” I muttered, my control fracturing. I took the wine glass out of her hand and set it on the counter, then pulled her toward me. Slowly, deliberately, giving her a chance to pull back. Her eyes narrowed in challenge, but she didn’t pull away. I wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her against me, and slid my hand through her hair, anchoring my fingers in its silky softness. “Kiss me, Laurier.”
“No,” she murmured, but her hands were on my chest, fingers curling into my shirt again. And not only was she not pulling away, she was relaxing against me. She wanted to touch me as much as I wanted to touch her. The realization was a relief, an exhale after holding my breath for an entire damn week.
I angled her so I had her pinned between my body and the counter. “Then let me kiss you.”
Her eyes were turbulent again, like the ocean when it was churned up in a storm. “That’s a bad idea.”
“You’re right. Say the word, and I’ll let you go.” It was true, even though my cock was as hard as the marble counter now. If she said the word, I’d walk her out to her car right then. I didn’t want to, but I would, because I wasn’t the kind of man she thought I was.
At my words, her eyes came up sharply to mine, and I realized I had surprised her. She tried, but she couldn’t quite hide the disappointment in them. She didn’t want me to let her go, but she didn’t want to be honest about it either. Another fucking puzzle to figure out.
“Kiss me,” I said again, more insistently this time. It had to be her. I’d taken the first step. I’d broken my word not to touch her. Now she had to take the next step, and she wanted to. I could see it in her eyes, the way her lips were parted, the way her heart was fluttering fast in her chest. But she didn’t.
Unable to handle being close to her another second, I swore and pushed back from the counter. Still too close. I moved through the living room, back toward the balcony. My cock felt like iron in my pants, and I felt the discomfort with every step.
Willow caught up to me at the edge of the balcony. Her eyes were still turbulent, her emotions churned up and choppy. “It’s not that I don’t want to.”
From any other woman, it wouldn’t have been much. But from Willow, it was a fucking revelation. Not that she felt the same way I did, but that she would admit it. It wasn’t enough though. “Then do something about it,” I said harshly. “I’m not going to let you just be a passenger, along for the ride, so you can pretend like you didn’t know where it was going.”
Her lower lip was between her teeth again. I didn’t know if it was purposely done to drive me insane, but it was working. “I can’t,” she whispered.
“But you want to?” I repeated, wondering if I’d somehow misheard her the first time.
Willow nodded, an infinitesimal movement that went straight to my ego. She wanted me too. She was willing to admit it, but why wouldn’t she do anything about it? Again, I felt the certainty that she wasn’t what she appeared to be. “Why not?” I murmured, turning to face her fully. “Are you with someone?”
The possibility made white hot jealousy burn through me. Cool relief doused it when she shook her head, a ghost of a smile on her face. “Just Camper.”
“Then what is it, Willow?” I wasn’t touching her, but we were leaning so close together that I might as well have been. She shook her head again, opened her mouth and then pressed her lips tightly together, like she’d thought better of whatever she might have said. “Just tell me,” I murmured. “Who are you, Willow Laurier?”
Another storm of indecision on her beautiful face, and then, finally, “Okay,” she whispered. “I’ll tell you the truth.”
15
WILLOW
I turned away from Julian, gripping the top of the balcony railing and staring out at the ocean. Throughout dinner, I’d heard its gentle rhythm as the water slapped against itself, whispered across the sand. Now though, I could only hear the roaring in my own head. What was I doing? I couldn’t really tell him the truth. He’d hate me, and God only knew what the fallout would be between Lewis Productions and Fletcher Films.