Chapter Six
Sutton wrapped up her latest round of calls to agents, requesting callbacks for a part in a TV show. Given her reputation, she’d received a special offer from a premium cable network for one of its racier shows about a cadre of Los Angeles party girls who travel to New York City for a bachelorette weekend. Naturally, the girls go to an invite-only strip club for its “Parade of Firemen” night, and Sutton was tasked with finding the five best “firemen” in New York City. She’d known instantly who to bring in, but then she always liked to give new blood a chance too, so she’d spent one afternoon last week hunting through photos, watching reels, and calling the top agents for their input on a few rising stars to include in the mix. The result had been a visual fiesta at the audition, and though the whole crew had been top-notch, she’d picked the best of the bunch for a second look. The agents she called squeed and oohed and ahhed and this was one of Sutton’s favorite parts of the job. Delivering good news. She could either be Santa bringing coal, or Santa bringing gifts, and she’d much rather get to play the part of good Santa delivering a big, heavy bag of opportunity to hungry actors.
“Great. So the producers will be looking forward to seeing Joe tomorrow afternoon,” Sutton said brightly, then hung up the phone. She was about to call one more agent when her cell rang. She felt that tightness in her chest—the cocktail of nerves and hope—as she wished it were Reeve. Why did she want to hear from her fake fiancé ?
But the number was private.
“Sutton Brenner here.”
“Good afternoon, Sutton. This is Janelle.”
The hopes flew away. The nerves took deeper root. She sat up straight in her chair. “Good afternoon, Janelle. How are you?”
“Did you enjoy the play?”
“Yes. It was fabulous. The seats were amazing. Thank you so much. Was everything okay? I know you had to leave early.”
“Oh, I managed to see enough of what I liked,” she said, and there was was something oddly illicit in the way Janelle answered the question.
Sutton furrowed her brow. “Oh, well that’s good.” She wasn’t sure what Janelle was getting at. Had she seen Reeve get her off? Oh god. Was she that much of a conservative bird too? First, she wanted a family atmosphere at the company. Now, she probably wanted Sutton to be a virgin before her wedding.
“In any case, I was calling about something else. We are so close to making a decision on this film, and I know one of the things that’s been hard for us to determine is where exactly the best location would be in the library for—well, you know.”
Right. The library scene. Sutton knew the library scene well. Hell, the world knew the library scene. It was like the elevator scene in another famous book. In Escorted Lives, the woman who falls for her escort takes him to the New York City Public Library to show him a rare old book that she wishes she could have for her collection. While at the library, they find a quiet nook and he makes love to her in the stacks.
Normally, casting directors don’t play any part in scouting locations. They are the first line of defense in recruiting on-camera talent, but the job ends there, so it was odd for Janelle to bring up location work with Sutton.
“Oh. Has it?” Sutton asked to keep the conversation going.
Janelle sighed heavily, as if this issue had been weighing on her. “It is. I went to the library myself, but I can’t find a place that’s just right. And I know you have such a good eye for talent that I thought you might have an eye for this as well.”
“Okay,” Sutton said carefully. She felt as if she were being tested in a new way. There was no deal yet, but she was being asked to jump through yet another hoop. “Do you want me to go with you?”
“Oh no. I was just thinking maybe you could go today. Maybe you and your lovely fiancé could see if you could find a good spot. I’ve heard the section on Renaissance Astrology on the fourth floor might be good, but I don’t have time to get over there today. Would you be a dear and report back to me? It would help immensely as we get closer to making a decision.”
“And I should bring my fiancé for this?” Sutton asked, because it was a strange request—not only to check out the location, but to bring along her beau.
“Don’t you think it might help to have Reeve with you?”
Sutton pressed her lips together and sucked in a deep breath. Janelle was grade-A annoying. But if this was how the game had to be played, Sutton was up for it. “I’m sure it will help immensely. Renaissance astrology, you say?”
“Yes. Renaissance astrology.”
“All right. I’ll just make this last call and head on over.”
She phoned the final agent on her list, then she rang up Reeve. “Hello, pretend boyfriend. Where are you right now?”
“Just going for a run with my friend Jill.”
Sutton felt a flare of jealousy. “Jill? Good friend, is she?”
“Great friend.”
“Can you meet me at the public library on Fifth and Forty-Second in an hour?”
“I need to shower. Make it an hour and a half.”
“Gotta go,” Reeve said to Jill as they ran down the West Side Bike Path.
“Come on! You’re the only one who can keep up with me. I thought we were going for eight miles today. You’re such a wuss,” Jill said, and pushed Reeve on the arm as they kept pace together.
“Ha. I could totally school you. But I have to be somewhere.”
“One, you can not school me. Two, where do you have to go? I thought you were out of work this week? Besides, you were supposed to help me get ready for my Crash the Moon audition with Patrick Carlson,” Jill said, referring to the musical she was auditioning for. The mid-day sun beat down on them. It was November and the air was chilly, but with five miles under their belts already, Reeve felt pretty warm.
“I promise I’ll help you tomorrow. I gotta jam all the way to the east side to shower, then get to midtown.”
“What’s the gig? Who was that on the phone?”
Reeve shook his head and laughed. Then he told Jill everything. Her eyes widened and she punched him on the arm, as if she were proud of him. “Can you get me an audition for Escorted Lives? Hell, I’d be happy to play a receptionist at the agency. Anything, anything at all.”
Reeve stopped running and kissed Jill quickly on the forehead. “You know I’ll do whatever I can for you.”
Then he ran across town, showered, changed and caught the subway to the New York Public Library where Sutton was waiting outside by the lions. Damn, she looked sharp in black leather boots, a short skirt, and a black coat cinched at the waist. All that luscious hair was pinned up again and she had her glasses on. He couldn’t help himself. His eyes wandered to her legs, and just as he suspected, he saw the slightest hint of lace. Thigh-high stockings again. She was killing him, especially because she had that same plastic smile on as she did last night, and he couldn’t read her.
She leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheek.
Hell, no. That was not going to do. “After six months together, all I get is the cheek?”
He shook his head and placed his hands on her face. He forced her to look at him, her blue eyes meeting his browns, and he gazed at her, as her pupils grew bigger and her walls started to fade away. Her body shifted the slightest bit closer, but he didn’t move. He stayed totally still. He wanted her to feel the weight of his stare. He wanted her to feel undressed with his eyes, unwound by his touch. And then, there it was. The slightest parting of her lips. He wasted no time, diving in for a deep and hungry kiss on the steps outside the library as book borrowers and researchers and students and tourists and anyone and everyone streamed up and down the steps. They were a postcard of kissing. They were the couple reunited after the naval hero was at sea. They were lovers who couldn’t keep their hands off each other after weeks apart. They were every kiss on every street that anyone ever wanted to gawk at, that anyone ever wanted to be. She moved against him, her chest lightly pressing against the cotton of his tee-shirt beneath his scratched leather jacket. Just when he felt her start to give in completely, he pulled apart, grabbed her hand and led her up the steps.
Still wobbly from the kiss, she missed a step and stumbled. In one swift move, he grabbed her elbow, then slid an arm around her waist.
“You okay?”
Her eyes were wide, the tiniest bit of shock in them. It would only have been a small tumble. It would only have caused a minor scrape or bruise. Still, she seemed glad to have been caught.
“Thank you.”
Then he stopped and gave her a soft kiss on her forehead. “I’m always happy to catch you.”
That kiss.
He kissed her like it was the only thing that mattered in the world. She ran her fingers absently across her top lip, as if she could recall the kiss. She wanted to revel in it. To live in it. To encase herself in that bubble of an afternoon kiss. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair in the least when it was all an act. When he had the raw talent to pull that off, to make a kiss seem so believable that she’d suspended disbelief out there on the steps. She had to restore the balance of power somehow, especially after the way she’d tripped. She was woozy and drunk from his kisses, so drunk she could barely walk straight. She had to right her ship. So as they wandered through shelves upon shelves of hardbound volumes on science and literature, on history and make-believe, Sutton chatted in a low voice.
“So you were an American lit major,” she said as they rounded a corner on the way to Renaissance Astrology. The smell of musty old books was strong, and there was dust in the air. Nearby, quiet patrons worked on computers or slouched down in crackly leather chairs with their tomes, the pages lit by the faint flow of green lamps with pull-down chains.
Reeve nodded. “Yep. Ernest Hemingway. Ralph Ellison. Faulkner,” he said, rattling off names. He slowed and held up his finger. “Faulkner—definitely not a fan of.”
“Why not?” Sutton asked as she peered down a long row of books on—as promised—Renaissance Astrology. The wooden shelves were high and no one was in the aisle. She tipped her forehead and he followed.
“He made no sense. You ever try to read him?”
Sutton nodded. “All I remember is it felt like Yoda talking. Every sentence was written backwards, it seemed.”
Reeve laughed, and Sutton found she liked the sound of his laughter. She liked too that she was back in charge.
“But I’m definitely a fan of F. Scott Fitzgerald.”
“Right. Of course. I remember you said Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas and The Great Gatsby were your toss-ups for your favorite book ever.”
Reeve flashed a small smile at her, as they reached the end of the aisle. Sutton looked around. They were in a section of the library full of books on the most prominent constellations in the 1600s and what they portended.
In a sultry voice, he said: “I’ve been drunk for about a week now, and I thought it might sober me up to sit in a library.”
She cocked her head and looked at him curiously. “What is that?”
“Some dude says it in The Great Gatsby when Nick finds him in the library.”
“Oh. How appropos,” Sutton said, but there was something that felt like a double-entendre in the line. Drunk. Libraries. The scene they were scouting for. Or maybe her mind naturally went to double-entendres around Reeve. She felt that dryness in her throat again and she swallowed.
“So I suppose you’re a big fan of Jay Gatsby and Daisy Buchanan then?”
Reeve shook his head and leaned against the wooden panel of the shelves. “No. I think they’re selfish pricks.”
“Really?”
“All they care about is themselves. They’re held up as this great ideal of a doomed love affair, but they’re totally self-centered. Daisy especially. She pretty much ignores her kid all the time.”
“Why do you like the book then?”
“I like the writing. Lines like ‘I love New York on summer afternoons when everyone’s away. There’s something very sensuous about it - overripe, as if all sorts of funny fruits were going to fall into your hands.’”
Quoting sumptuous passages from literature in that sexy, smooth voice of his was not going to help her stay in control. Her knees felt wobbly. She pressed a hand against her forehead as if she might faint.
“You okay?” he asked in a soft voice, and then reached for her, brushing loose strands of hair across her forehead.
She nodded. She was afraid to speak. She didn’t know what to do around him. No other actor had ever affected her like this. She’d never even been remotely interested in an actor. They were work to her. They were a job. A job she loved, but that was it, that was all. Call them in, try them out, pick the best.
The problem was Reeve was far too skilled at this role for her own good. He made her suspend disbelief too easily. He looped his hands around her neck, drawing her nearer to him.
“I like the last line of the book too. ‘Tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther…And one fine morning—So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.’”
She inhaled sharply and damn near collapsed. This was too much. She was silly puddy with him, she was a teenager touched for the very first time. There were sparks inside all the private places in her body, and her breasts felt heavier because she so wanted them to be touched. She inched closer, and he drew his arms tighter around her.
“I see great writing turns you on, Sutton,” he whispered, then left a soft kiss on her neck.
“You too,” she said, and pressed against his jeans. He was rock hard, and knowing that she affected him made her suddenly turn the tables. She felt so out of control with him most of the time, so much like an open book that she needed to get her power back, and she planned to before she fell even further under the spell of his words, his tongue, his fingers, and those eyes that drowned her in desire. She pressed a palm against the denim of his jeans, and he responded with a long, low moan. She grinned wickedly to herself. Oh yes, this was going to be fun.
She looked one way, then another. No one was near them. They were in the far corner of the stacks, all alone on a Wednesday afternoon. She heard no footsteps, only the faint ticking of a wall clock somewhere and then a low hum, likely a heater. There were surrounded only by books, by facts and fictions of Renaissance men and women trying to map their lives from the moon and the stars.
“There’s really only one way to know for sure if this is the ideal location for the famous library scene,” she said, and began unzipping his jeans. She looked up at him, as if to ask if it were okay. But she wasn’t really asking. She just wanted to see the surprise in his eyes, and yes, it was there. He hadn’t expected this. She could tell there was a nervous side to him right now. But as she reached her hand inside his briefs, feeling the hard length of him, she knew he wasn’t going to back down. He felt amazing, long and thick and sculpted. Velvet soft outside, rock hard inside. She could have spent all afternoon playing with him, toying with him, delighting in the perfection of his size. But there was work to be done, and orgasms to be achieved, and the clock was indeed ticking. She kneeled down. Keeping one hand wrapped firmly around the base, she kissed the tip. He let out another quiet moan, and when she glanced up, she saw him leaning back against the books and he bit down hard on his lip. She teased him for a few seconds with her tongue, and from the way he twined his fingers into her pinned-up hair, he rather enjoyed the feel of her lips on his long, hard length. She wanted to run her tongue from one side, then the other, tasting every inch. She wanted to savor his deliciousness and take her sweet time getting to know every fabulous inch of him. But instead, she wrapped her lips around him, and brought him all the way into her mouth.
He gripped her hair tighter, as little sounds and moans escaped his lips. As she moved up and down, bringing him as far into her throat as she could, wanting him to feel completely surrounded by her warm, inviting mouth, she gazed up at him. His eyes were shut hard, and his features were screwed up in a look of exquisite pleasure. At last, she thought. She could do to him what he’d done to her. She could take charge of his pleasure. She could ensure that he would be the one feeling waves of sweet release wash over him. She wanted to tell him, “Don’t worry. I’ve got this,” but she had a feeling he wasn’t worried at all. Besides, her mouth was quite full. She teased him with her tongue and her lips all over, pressing her hands against his strong, hard thighs—toned from all that cycling—for balance. He grabbed at her hair, and that made her even wetter, knowing how close he was.
She wanted to touch herself at the same time. She was aching, longing desperately for him to lift her up so she could wrap her legs around him and slide onto him, riding him here in the library, all the while suppressing her own desire to scream his name in pleasure. She was a screamer, that’s for sure. She was a loud one, and she never held back.
But she could take care of herself later. This moment was for him. Because pleasing him would give her back her power. She wouldn’t feel so helpless. He was a perfect specimen of hotness in every way and she couldn’t resist bringing him in deeper.
“Sutton,” he moaned, and that made her tighten her lips around him. She loved that he was so far gone into the feeling that he had to say her name, that he couldn’t keep quiet. Soon, he rocked his hips into her, and she went faster, as more low and quiet moans met her ears. Then he thrust once, twice, and she tasted him for the first time, and she loved it. She wanted more of it, more of him. She could do this every day.
When he was done, she rose and brushed one hand against the other. Reeve had a dazed look etched across his gorgeous features.
“Why yes, I think the Renaissance astrology section will do just fine.”