I swallow hard, using my most painful memory to draw up the tears. I don’t think about losing my parents or my most embarrassing moments or anything like that. I think of when Jesse Slade told me his father had been killed in the September 11th terror attacks, that he had already enlisted and was leaving for bootcamp in a week. My heart still feels raw and torn open from that moment all those years ago, and focusing on the memory makes the tears fall.
I reach to touch Jason’s face and let him kiss me as he crouches in front of me. His lips are cold and wet. I have to press down a wave of revulsion that overcomes me until my eyes slide just past his and fall on a man standing off-set. He stands almost a head above everyone else with broad shoulders. He’s wearing a suit, and I can’t quite see his face through the lights, but something deep inside my chest responds, as if I’m magnetically drawn to this man, as if he’s calling to me. My eyes widen slightly when I realize I’m still in the middle of the scene. I look back at Jason, close my eyes, and kiss him back.
I have to think back to how I felt kissing Jesse all those years ago to put passion in the kiss. I can hate him all I want, but Jesse might as well have been the physical embodiment of desire. Every touch, breath, and whisper from him seemed to drip with sexuality. Just the memory of his hands on me always sets my skin on fire.
After a few seconds, we pull back, foreheads resting against each other. The moment hangs and then Camillo calls cut. This is normally the point when he tells us to reset and run the scene again, waiting only long enough for makeup to be retouched. To my surprise, he looks through the camera’s view window for a brief time and then nods in satisfaction.
“Good work people. We’re done.”
There’s a stunned moment of shock from everyone on set and then a flutter of activity as people excitedly get to work breaking down the set so they can get home early for once. Jason smirks at me. “I don’t remember the script calling for tongue in that kiss.”
I roll my eyes. “Grow up, Jason.”
“I miss you,” he says, reaching to touch my face.
I flinch away. “We’ve talked about this, Jason. It’s over.”
“It doesn’t have to be,” he says, stepping closer to me.
I feel the first wave of panic flush through my system just before someone steps between us, pushing Jason back with a large hand.
“You can’t touch me!” He says indignantly.
“Fuck off,” growls the man between us.
There’s something familiar in his voice. It makes my breath catch. It can’t be…
“Don’t make me call security,” says Jason, sounding exactly like the spoiled diva he is.
“I am security, so get lost before I ruin all that pretty makeup on your face.”
One of the set lights catches his face and I see for the first time who it is. I see the familiar features, the high cheekbones and the breathtaking jawline covered in a few days worth of stubble. I see the deep green eyes. Jesse’s eyes. My Jesse.
He wears a suit that fits him perfectly, and damn. He has filled out since high school. He was always in good shape, but now he’s the perfect balance of power and strength. He’s broad in the shoulders and strong, but not bulky. His hair is cut close at the sides and a little longer on top. It’s dark and smooth, making me want to run my fingers through it, at least until I remember what he did to me all those years ago.
Jason seems to sense that standing toe-to-toe with Jesse is only going to embarrass him further. He pulls out his phone and turns to walk away, muttering over his shoulder. “You have a few minutes before the real security gets here. Asshole.”
Jesse turns to face me and for the first time, his focus is entirely on me. It literally takes my breath, drying my throat instantly. I’ve spent so long thinking about him coming back as a “what if” that seeing him in the flesh is a complete shock. It only takes one look at his face to see that he has changed. God, has he changed. It’s not just the way his once clean and boyishly gorgeous face is now rugged, hard, and irresistibly manly. It’s something in his eyes as well, a stony quality that speaks volumes for what he has been through. There’s pain in those eyes, even if he’s trying to hide it.
I realize I’ve spent all this time mentally creating a villain out of him. I’ve been picturing him laughing over drinks with some beautiful, exotic woman he met overseas. I never stopped to consider that he might not be happy.
I struggle between the desire to reach out and caress his cheek and the need to slap him and walk away, leaving him where he belongs--my past. It’s not my job to heal him. He certainly wasn’t around to help me heal after the damage he caused ten years ago.
“Kay…” He whispers. His hard, calloused hand cups my neck.
Despite my fury, I feel myself leaning into his hand, eyes closing. His touch sends fingers of heat dancing down my spine, lighting a long dormant desire that starts in my core and blossoms outward. I blush when I feel my nipples harden. Anger mingles with desire, but I force myself to focus on the anger instead. He left. He threw me away even though I was willing to wait for him. My resolve hardens.
“Don’t,” I say. “I don’t know why you’re here, but you can do what you do best. Leave.”
“I’m your bodyguard. Your agent hired me yesterday.” The hint of laughter in his eyes puts me over the edge. Like he knows what he’s doing to me and it amuses him.
“No. Hell no. Consider yourself fired.”
His hand locks around my shoulder when I try to walk away. “Kay--”
“Don’t!” I snap, fighting down the swell of emotion that rises up. I won’t cry in front of him. I won’t show him how long I’ve held the hurt he left me with. “You don’t get to call me that anymore. You can call me Miss Pierson.”
“My fee is already paid, Miss Pierson.”
I swallow hard, trying not to focus on how sexy it sounds to hear him call me Miss Pierson.
“If anything happens to you now,” he continues, “it will be a stain on my professional record. So, like it or not, you’re mine.” He bites his lip, smirking a little at his choice of words and at the way they make me flush red. “To protect.”
“Not my problem. Now let me go.”
“I made that mistake once and I don’t plan to again,” he says.
His words make me pause, eyes locked on his. I regain my composure with considerable effort. “Let. Me. Go.”
He releases my arm and watches me storm off the set. I pass through makeup and props, having to weave through crowds of people rushing to get home early. I throw the back door to the alley behind the studio open and nearly knock Kennedy over in my rush to get outside. She bobbles her coffee and barely manages to save it.
“Jesus! What’s the rush?” she says, scowling. “You came out of there like a sneeze.”
“Like a... “ I shake my head. Kennedy is notoriously bad with similes, but that one was terrible, even for her. “Nevermind. I have to go. Look I just… Jesse’s back.” I blurt the words out like an admission of guilt and start toward my car, but Kennedy hurries after me.