The Princess and the Porn Star (8 page)

“Yeah. I guess it does.”

Our eyes met again. I hadn’t realized just how close we’d been standing to each other. Had one of us moved? Or had we been this way all along? No way of knowing, but we were definitely this close now. Really close.

Abruptly, Rachel took a breath and drew back a step. “Anyway.” She stifled a quiet cough. “I should, um, get going.”

Was that disappointment weighing down the center of my chest?

“Yeah, it’s getting late.” I swallowed. “Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

“It is, yeah.” She bit her lip. “Well. Good night.”

“Good night.” Without really thinking about it, I put a hand on her waist and kissed her cheek. As I drew back, we both paused, our faces just a few inches apart.

We held each other’s gazes. My heart pounded, and a ball of nervous excitement grew just below my ribs. I was close enough… I could easily… We could…

She moistened her lips.

Oh God…

Still have to work together, Lee. Music video set. Tomorrow. Remember?

Abruptly, we both stepped back, avoiding each other’s eyes and clearing our throats like a couple of nervous teenagers.

“I, um…” Rachel gestured at her car. “I should… I…”

“Right. Right.” I took another step back. “So, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Bright and early.”

“Bright and early.”

Her car doors unlocked with a loud click, and my heart skipped like someone had fired a gun. I waited until she’d gotten into the driver’s seat and started the engine—the curbside equivalent to making sure she got safely into her house—and then started down the sidewalk toward my own car. Even as her car faded into the constant hum of Los Angeles background noise, the hairs on the back of my neck still prickled like she was right there behind me.

God, this was weird. Really weird.

This morning, I’d been starstruck and nervous, not sure what to expect when I met Olivia. How was I to know that a few hours later, I’d be walking away on shaking knees and wondering what the hell just happened?

A few hours ago, Buck Harder hadn’t been sure what to make of being in a music video with Olivia Taylor.

Lee already regretted not working up the nerve to kiss Rachel.

I pulled up in front of my condo. My headlights lit up the garage door, and the idling engine purred in the background, and for a full minute or so, I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do now.

Running on autopilot, I finally killed the engine and got out. I searched my pockets for my house key for longer than I cared to admit before I remembered it was on the same ring as my car keys. Same ring it had been on since I bought the place three years ago. Same ring that had been in my hand since I stepped out of the car.

Yep, definitely losing my mind.

Exhaustion. That was all it was. After all, I’d been up ridiculously early, and it was already almost midnight. I definitely needed to get some sleep because five thirty came early, but I was too wound up to go to sleep yet. All because of Rachel. I kept thinking about her. Or about the evening we’d spent together. Or about everything we’d talked about and everything we hadn’t done. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t
stop
thinking.

It all came down to five simple words:

Why hadn’t I kissed her?

I almost had. Almost.
Almost
.

But we still had to work together tomorrow. It was awkward enough at first today. No sense making it worse when the cameras were actually rolling.

And there was still the issue of the cameras that would be rolling after the video was in the can. The cameras that would likely be following Rachel all over the planet in search of juicy details about her personal life, and the cameras I’d be performing in front of that would make
me
a juicy detail those bastards would dearly love to sink their teeth into. Holy fuck, but this could end in disaster.

Assuming it even got off the ground. Most women could at least pretend to forget what I did for a living right up until the moment I made a move. Then suddenly I was either a sleaze or a piece of meat. Someone who just wanted her for her body, or someone who was worth no more than what his body could do.

And I didn’t want to make Rachel think I was cheapening either of us or the evening we’d enjoyed together.

Still, if I wasn’t mistaken, her shoulders had dropped a little after I backed off. Disappointment? Relief? Fuck if I knew.

I sighed and rubbed my forehead with the heel of my hand. When the hell had a simple cup of coffee become so complicated?

Probably around the same time I’d wound up having a cup of coffee with the woman I’d had a crush on for a few years. But then, this wasn’t the starstruck crush I’d had on Olivia Taylor all these years. It was Rachel who had me tripping over my own feet.

God, I wanted her so bad I could taste her. I was aroused to the point of restlessness. Tempting as it was, jerking off to her seemed…wrong. I’d jerked off to Olivia Taylor—what red-blooded straight male hadn’t?—but not Rachel. I just couldn’t. Which made me feel guilty about all the times I
had
.

But if I didn’t, then where would I be tomorrow? A frustrated, turned on wreck trying to dance in tight leather with a leather-clad Rachel in front of cameras and crewmen. I could do all manner of things on a set, but keeping some semblance of dignity while bumping and grinding with a woman who had this effect on me? Not bloody likely.

Exhausted, more than a little wound up, and with no idea how tomorrow would play out after this evening together, I went to bed. Before long at all, in spite of my wound-up brain, I drifted off to sleep with “You Ain’t Even Kissed Me Yet” still thrumming in the back of my mind.

As predicted, five thirty came early.

Five forty-five wasn’t much better.

Six o’clock, I dragged my ass out of bed.

There wasn’t enough caffeine in the world. Fuck. But that contract I’d signed didn’t include a “postpone shooting until I find enough goddamned Red Bull” clause, so I didn’t have much choice.

Fortunately, once I’d made it to the set and gotten into costume, the makeup artists were standing by to camouflage any evidence of my lack of sleep. When the artist had finished working her magic, I pushed myself up out of the makeup chair and shivered as the creak of leather sent me right back to the set yesterday.

They had to go with skintight leather, didn’t they? Hot. Tight. Maybe just a little bit uncomfortable when faced with any kind of…swelling. Not to mention obvious as all fuck. I was damned good at making myself get hard and stay hard under the most unarousing of circumstances but didn’t have a lot of practice with trying
not
to get hard.

Now would be a good time to master that skill.

I took as deep a breath as the tight leather would allow and then headed toward the set. On my way down the hall, as I passed by the row of doors designated as dressing rooms, Rachel’s assistant brushed past me with an iPad under his arm and two cups of coffee in a carrier. He pushed open Rachel’s dressing room door, and just before he closed it behind him, I caught just enough of her voice to make me shiver.

I tugged at the tight leather collar. Funny, I didn’t recall having this much trouble breathing yesterday.

Breathing as best I could, I continued on my way to the soundstage. I hadn’t been in the room thirty seconds when Jim came out of nowhere and put a heavy hand on my shoulder.

“Buck,” he said. “Fantastic work with Olivia yesterday. Fantastic.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“I’d like to see you two turn up the heat a bit today, though.”

“Turn up—” I gulped. “I beg your pardon?”

“You know, keep it clean,” he said. “Well, clean-ish. No Janet Jackson action here, but don’t keep your hands in the same place. Move them up and down.” He did an incredibly disturbing pantomime, running his hands up and down an imaginary Rachel’s waist while shaking his own ass. “Improvise, man.”

“Okay, sure,” I said, trying not to gag. Thank God, he stopped.

“We’ve got to walk that fine line,” he said. “Push the envelope. I don’t want the two of you getting it on up there, but make it look like you
want
to.”

That shouldn’t be too difficult at this point…

“I want it to look organic and natural,” he said. “Like you really want her, you know? Do whatever comes to mind, long as it’s not over the top.”

“Not over the top,” I said with a nod. “Sure. Got it.”

Does a hard-on count as over the top? Because I’m pretty sure that’s a foregone conclusion.

The distinct sound of high heels on a hard floor sent a shiver through me. Yeah. Foregone conclusion. I took a breath, held it and turned around.

Rachel stepped into the room, and no, it wasn’t going to be difficult to convince the cameras I wanted her. For that matter, I suddenly didn’t need any caffeine.

She had on the white dress. Exactly the same as the black one except for the color, and she was steady and confident on those terrifying heels. Hair down and perfectly styled. Makeup flawlessly highlighting her eyes, lips and cheekbones. Good God, she was gorgeous.

Her eyes met mine, and though she was every inch Olivia Taylor, the brief, shy smile was all Rachel and all mine. Another shiver.

I was about to go up and say hello, but then Jim stepped into the gap between us, waving his clipboard. “All right, let’s get this show rolling! Places! Let’s go!”

Rachel and I exchanged glances. Sympathetic grins. Shrugs. Then we headed up onto the stage to that tiny tape square.

“Buck, you’re behind her,” Jim shouted. “Hands on her waist, just like we rehearsed.”

You really think I’d forgotten?

I slid my hands over her waist. Distantly, I was aware of Jim ordering someone to start the music, but most of my senses zoomed in on a soft creaking sound. The soft creaking sound of leather that was my only warning before Olivia’s body was pressed up against mine.

She turned her head slightly and murmured, “This all right?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Long as you’re—”

The music started. Showtime.

Moving together like this was far easier than it was yesterday. There were no walls, no barriers except the thin leather. I didn’t have to consciously move; she danced, and my body followed.

It was also insanely arousing. I tried distracting myself with the unsexiest thoughts possible. Baseball. Taxes. The grueling last hour of an all-day porno shoot. Olivia Taylor in my hands and skintight leather and—
fuck
. No amount of mental diversion did a damned bit of good, and there was no way she didn’t know. With her ass pressed up to my body like this, she had to feel my hard-on. Especially with the way she moved against me.
Ground
against me. When I pulled her hips toward me and pressed harder, her back arched off my chest, but it wasn’t to get away from me this time. Holy hell.

She reached back and slid her hands down the sides of my thighs.

Whatever walls she’d put up before, they’d crumbled, and there was nothing between us except two paper-thin layers of leather. The tempo accelerated, and Olivia’s hips followed suit. I held on to her now without any pretense of trying to keep some distance between us, and we danced like we’d just met in a club. No cameras, no crew, just the two of us dancing like everyone else on a crowded floor had vanished, leaving us to our feverish, fluid movement, the kind of movement that led to
your place or mine?
by the end of the night. No one had to tell me to lean in and almost kiss her neck, and as her hair teased my skin and her scent teased my nose, the only challenge now was
not
kissing her skin, because
almost
wasn’t enough. Take after take, the song played, and we did this over and over and over again. Like the most torturous kind of foreplay imaginable: right on the brink of going too far, and no possible way to go any further.

“Cut!”

The word hit me like someone had dumped ice cold water over the top of us. We both stopped but didn’t pull apart.

“Looking good,” Jim shouted. “Time for a costume change. Everyone in black, put on white. Everyone in white, put on black. Be back on-set in thirty minutes.”

Oh God. We had to do this all over again. Touching her, dancing with her, wanting her like mad. Good thing Jim planned to finish the entire shoot today. I didn’t know if I could handle three days in a row of this.

Rachel turned around. She smiled. “Guess I’ll see you in thirty?”

“Yeah.” I gulped. “See you in thirty.”

Chapter Five

Rachel

“Damn it.” I made an exaggerated gagging noise as Quinn zipped up the black dress.

“Almost there,” he said.

“Fuck, dude…”

“Hey, I didn’t design it.” He gave the zipper one last pull. “There. You’re good.”

“Says you,” I croaked.

“You were doing fine in the other one.”

“Yeah, but I’d been wearing that one for a while. They do stretch.” I tugged at the cable-tight neckline. Well, cleavage-line. “And just when I can finally breathe, I change, and now…”