“Tired,” she said shortly. “And right now, I’m getting more and more irritated.”
Her gaze shot past him when Eddie’s voice rose, threatening to break the sound barrier. She stepped to the side and said, “Hey! I’m right here . . . if you want to get any more insulting, why don’t you just say them directly to me?”
Eddie opened his mouth, then shut it.
Sojo looked at him like she wanted to smack him. “Can we please wrap this up?”
Sebastien stepped aside and let Marin go in front of him, and the crew and cast once more took their places.
It had become rote by now—or it should have been—but as he went through each step, rushing Marin—no, Marlena, through her house, pausing when she started to fight—then picking her up—this was where the assistant director wanted to change things, make it more of a struggle, Sebastien kept finding himself going back to what she’d said earlier.
You put your hands on me. I put mine on you . . .
There was hardly any noise save for Marin’s voice as she went through her character’s lines. “Put me down, you son of a bitch . . . You can’t . . . You can’t . . .”
She kicked him and he caught her around the back of the knees. “It’s okay to be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you.”
They got through the door.
Sojo called cut.
“You see?” Eddie demanded. “You see? It would have a lot more visceral impact if the struggle was more intense. We need to show her fear.”
Sebastien ignored him as he eased Marin back to her feet. She pushed her hair back, her gaze cutting straight to Eddie. “She’s begging him to leave her alone. He has her pleading in the car. I think that’s visceral enough. We’re not shooting torture porn here. He’s her savior, Eddie. Try to remember that.”
Eddie jerked as if he’d been slapped.
Sojo pressed her lips together, hiding a smile.
Sebastien didn’t bother.
“Are we done?” Marin asked, looking at Sojo.
***
Filming was a blur.
The scenes with Sebastien were a hot, erotic blur.
She knew she’d done her job because Sojo gave her that short, tight nod that indicated pleasure and when she called for them to wrap up for the day, she gave Marin a pat on the arm.
Marin got the hell off the set and hurried through the rest of what had to be done as quickly as she could.
She wanted to be alone in her trailer so she could fall apart. She was pretty sure she would.
She was equally sure that she wouldn’t stay alone and she was right. She’d barely had a chance to switch into the jeans and sweater she’d worn to the set that morning when there was a knock at the door.
She didn’t even have to guess who it was.
Sebastien raked her over with a look. “Are you ready to leave?”
“I . . .” Part of her wanted to stall, but she was just too tired. “Yeah. I just need my shoes.”
He gave a terse nod and went back to staring out over the set. Guess that meant he wasn’t coming in. She closed the door and dropped down on the couch, in almost the same spot where he’d been a few hours ago. Staring off into the distance, she tried to get her mind in order, but there was a rough jumble of thoughts. She kept seeing Sebastien as he’d stood in front of her earlier, how he’d been last year when he’d asked her out. How he’d been over the past few months.
And how he’d looked when he called out Monica’s name while holding her, only moments after making love to her.
Did she buy the answer Sebastien had given her?
She didn’t know.
What was really pathetic was the fact that she was starting to want him enough that it didn’t really matter what the answer was, as long as he wanted her, too. And she knew he did.
Through the window, she heard somebody call his name, and although she couldn’t make out the response, she heard the deep, mellow cadence as he responded. Time to go, she told herself, slipping her feet into a pair of shoes and grabbing her bag.
Checking to make sure she had her phone, she saw there were a few messages.
One from Abby.
She read it.
So, you and Seb, huh? I think we need to talk. Call me. I mean it. I know something’s up.
Marin bit her lip. Then, without letting herself brood about it, she responded.
I will. Soon.
Sebastien was on his feet and turning toward her the second the door opened. Self-consciously, Marin locked the door to the trailer while he stood close enough that she could smell the soap he’d used as he showered away the sweat of the day. It was always hot under the lights, hotter still when you added Sebastien Barnes into the mix.
Her brain started to feed her images as she turned back to him, still holding the key to her trailer. She clung to it, her palm damp as her memory replayed the brief seconds she’d seen him in his shower. Had he touched himself today? Did he do that a lot—