Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 123873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 619(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 619(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
Brendan remained motionless, half-lidded eyes focused intently on Cillian, moving only to adjust the tilt of his head as Cillian drew in closer. “Do enlighten me.”
Just a little closer. Cillian’s heart beat with the thrill of this, with feeling so deep in it, this power play making a tug of war of their wills and their bodies, and his gut quaked tightly, the tension seeping through him to make his blood run hot with an excitement that could be the thrill of impending battle…or just the thrill of being this close to Brendan.
“Never was there a wall that could keep me out.” Cillian swayed in, his fingers still curled against Brendan’s stomach, his head turning to whisper in his ear. “If I want in…I’ll lay siege again…and again…and again…until I penetrate every defense.”
Brendan’s head turned slightly. The touch of stubble roughening his deep golden-brown skin teased against Cillian’s cheek, and Cillian’s toes curled; the space between them was too warm, the air heating and growing harder to breathe.
“I dare say you shan’t find me so easy to breach,” Brendan rumbled against Cillian’s ear. “Try as you may…but I intend to thwart your every desire.”
Brendan’s voice wrapping around the word desire in such a groaning, suggestive way…Cillian’s fingertips trembled, his lips parting, but no words came out. He—the scene was supposed to end here anyway, cut and move on to something else, but he couldn’t seem to break character…or maybe he was already out of character, when he was thinking more about Brendan’s heat and magnetism and less about the vibrant thrill of rivalry between two men at cross purposes. He—
“Cut,” Newcomb snapped with a disgusted sound. “Let’s break for five, and then try that again. Tell, try looking more like you want to fuck your costar and less like you want to fuck her father. Your chemistry with Sophie is completely flat.”
Cillian jerked back from Brendan, high hot spots of frustration burning against his cheeks. He turned sharply, a retort on his lips—but Brendan caught his arm, bending, mouth moving against his ear in tones that were suddenly much softer, the lazy warmth returning to his voice.
“Don’t,” Brendan breathed quietly. “He wants to make you angry. Find a weakness in your armor. Don’t give him a response.”
Cillian closed his eyes, struggling, grinding his teeth together before exhaling, “…what if he’s right? What if I’m doing this wrong with Sophie?”
“You aren’t,” Brendan answered. “You’re doing well. He’s just looking for anything to make you feel insecure.”
“Um, guys?” Sophie leaned around Brendan’s bulk, standing on her toes and peering at Cillian. “I heard my name. Everything okay?”
It took Cillian a moment to answer, when he was rooted to the spot by a lovely rush of warmth that went through him.
Brendan thought he was doing well.
That was something to hold on to, and made it that much easier to ignore Newcomb.
So he only smiled, and then grinned even wider when Brendan gave Sophie a disgusted look when she popped her head right over his back, her chin on Brendan’s shoulder and her cheek pressed against his jaw.
“Yeah,” Cillian said. “Everything’s good.”
Brendan turned his head, staring at Sophie flatly—then pressed a fingertip against the center of her forehead and pushed slowly, gently, but insistently until inch after inch, she disappeared back behind Brendan’s shoulder, the last of her face vanishing with a sheepish look.
Cillian laughed. “Get out of the way,” he said, and prodded Brendan’s chest. “So we can start.”
Brendan gave him an incredulous look. “You only outrank me in the script.”
“I’m just being practical.” Cillian smiled brightly. “Let’s get back to work.”
Another warning look before, grumbling, Brendan turned away, starting to pick his way along the narrow walkway branching from the top of the mock-stairs that gave him an avenue for his entrance. He paused, though, glancing back at Cillian.
“Tonight?” he asked.
Tonight…? Cillian blinked—then inhaled quickly as he remembered.
“…right. Tonight,” he said faintly, and tried to push down the silly smile that rose to his lips. “I’ll be there. Tonight.”
Sophie cocked her head, blinking at him quizzically. “What’s happening tonight?”
“Nothing,” Cillian said, and tried not to bounce in place. “We’re just going on a date.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
WELL THIS WAS A BIT of déjà vu.
Cillian stood outside Brendan’s apartment door again, once more fussing with his clothing—though this time he’d gone a little more out of his way to dress a touch nicer, and gotten Candace to touch up his makeup before he’d left the studio. Clucking her tongue at him, she’d once again covered over bruises that had finally started to fade a bit, the swelling almost gone—but he was still a mess of dark stains under his skin, and he couldn’t go out like that. Brendan hadn’t told him where they were going, just that it was somewhere not too public but not too private either, so Cillian hadn’t really been certain of proper date attire.