turned to the side and studied her reflection again. Of late, that had been
softening as well, the formerly taut flesh of her stomach and waist losing the
definition it once had. Despite the Pilates, the running, and the god-awful
workouts with her sadistic trainer, everything was beginning to sag.
She was getting old, and everyone knew what happened to
actresses when they got old.
A knock sounded at the door.
“What?” she snarled, not looking away from her reflection.
“Lena, it’s Jake. Can I come in?”
Her heart skipped. “Jake?” She looked around frantically,
seeing stacks of unworn clothing on the couch, dirty clothes in a pile by the
door for the laundry service, the remnants of her dinner salad on the fold-out
table, and worst of all, the wrapper from a clandestine miniature chocolate bar
on the counter beside the sink. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”
He pulled the door open, and, as it always did, the sight
of his virile masculinity hit her like a wave, sending a rush of heat from her
toes to her fingertips. His body hadn’t changed much over the years. He was the
same height, probably the same weight. But his muscles no longer had the
roundness of youth. They were hard, defined like rigid bands of steel. Even
under his T-shirt and jeans she could see them, the vee of his lower abs
beckoning until she itched to touch him, to trace the lines of those muscles.
“Someday, sweetheart, you’ll have to start locking your
door.”
She shook herself from her reverie and pulled the lapels
of her robe more tightly together. He’d probably gone right from the set to the
gym, like she should have, because his hair looked freshly washed, and his
three days of stubble had been carefully trimmed.
God she hated him. She hated him from the edges of his
square jaw to the soft contours of his sensual mouth. The mouth that drew her
eye every time he walked in the room. The mouth that had kissed her today with
such passion it had taken every ounce of her will not to respond.
The mouth that had kissed so many other women, with the
same fake passion.
“If I’d known you were coming, I would have. What are you
still doing here, anyway? I thought you would have gone home hours ago.” She
stamped over to the refrigerator under the counter and grabbed a bottle of
sparkling water. What she really wanted was a beer. And a full-size chocolate
bar.
“I didn’t have the heart to face the traffic. What about
you?”
“I had calls to make. Besides, I needed a shower. For some
reason, I always feel dirty when I leave the set these days.”
Jake sighed. “Lena, I thought we were over this. It’s been
ten years. You can’t still be holding a grudge.” He followed her, leaning
against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest. The move accentuated
his biceps.
He did it on purpose, she had no doubt.
“Actually, I can.” She looked pointedly at her watch. “Was
there anything else? I need to get dressed and hit the road. Can’t miss any of
my beauty rest, you know.” Breathe deeply, she instructed herself. But nothing
seemed to dull the painful awareness that he was only a few feet away.
That his legs were spread a casual distance apart.
That her body could fit between his legs.
His jaw tightened. “I don’t understand what happened. It
isn’t as though we haven’t worked together before.” He reached out a hand and
ran it up and down the length of her arm. Her dressing gown was made of fine
silk, and when he pressed the soft fabric against her flesh, it felt cool, then
hot.
“That was different,” she said, swallowing convulsively,
unable to move. “We didn’t have to, to…”
He tugged gently on her arm. She took an unwilling step
toward him, heat rushing from her stomach to her cheeks. He tugged again. She
moved closer. His calloused hand passed through her hair, and she had to fight
the urge to close her eyes.
“No, Jake,” she whispered, her hand coming to clutch the
sides of her
softening as well, the formerly taut flesh of her stomach and waist losing the
definition it once had. Despite the Pilates, the running, and the god-awful
workouts with her sadistic trainer, everything was beginning to sag.
She was getting old, and everyone knew what happened to
actresses when they got old.
A knock sounded at the door.
“What?” she snarled, not looking away from her reflection.
“Lena, it’s Jake. Can I come in?”
Her heart skipped. “Jake?” She looked around frantically,
seeing stacks of unworn clothing on the couch, dirty clothes in a pile by the
door for the laundry service, the remnants of her dinner salad on the fold-out
table, and worst of all, the wrapper from a clandestine miniature chocolate bar
on the counter beside the sink. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”
He pulled the door open, and, as it always did, the sight
of his virile masculinity hit her like a wave, sending a rush of heat from her
toes to her fingertips. His body hadn’t changed much over the years. He was the
same height, probably the same weight. But his muscles no longer had the
roundness of youth. They were hard, defined like rigid bands of steel. Even
under his T-shirt and jeans she could see them, the vee of his lower abs
beckoning until she itched to touch him, to trace the lines of those muscles.
“Someday, sweetheart, you’ll have to start locking your
door.”
She shook herself from her reverie and pulled the lapels
of her robe more tightly together. He’d probably gone right from the set to the
gym, like she should have, because his hair looked freshly washed, and his
three days of stubble had been carefully trimmed.
God she hated him. She hated him from the edges of his
square jaw to the soft contours of his sensual mouth. The mouth that drew her
eye every time he walked in the room. The mouth that had kissed her today with
such passion it had taken every ounce of her will not to respond.
The mouth that had kissed so many other women, with the
same fake passion.
“If I’d known you were coming, I would have. What are you
still doing here, anyway? I thought you would have gone home hours ago.” She
stamped over to the refrigerator under the counter and grabbed a bottle of
sparkling water. What she really wanted was a beer. And a full-size chocolate
bar.
“I didn’t have the heart to face the traffic. What about
you?”
“I had calls to make. Besides, I needed a shower. For some
reason, I always feel dirty when I leave the set these days.”
Jake sighed. “Lena, I thought we were over this. It’s been
ten years. You can’t still be holding a grudge.” He followed her, leaning
against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest. The move accentuated
his biceps.
He did it on purpose, she had no doubt.
“Actually, I can.” She looked pointedly at her watch. “Was
there anything else? I need to get dressed and hit the road. Can’t miss any of
my beauty rest, you know.” Breathe deeply, she instructed herself. But nothing
seemed to dull the painful awareness that he was only a few feet away.
That his legs were spread a casual distance apart.
That her body could fit between his legs.
His jaw tightened. “I don’t understand what happened. It
isn’t as though we haven’t worked together before.” He reached out a hand and
ran it up and down the length of her arm. Her dressing gown was made of fine
silk, and when he pressed the soft fabric against her flesh, it felt cool, then
hot.
“That was different,” she said, swallowing convulsively,
unable to move. “We didn’t have to, to…”
He tugged gently on her arm. She took an unwilling step
toward him, heat rushing from her stomach to her cheeks. He tugged again. She
moved closer. His calloused hand passed through her hair, and she had to fight
the urge to close her eyes.
“No, Jake,” she whispered, her hand coming to clutch the
sides of her
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