Chapter 10

Hayden

Victoria holdsmy gaze for a long moment, obviously debating with herself, and neither of us breathes.

I honestly don't know why I said that, just that she felt so good in my arms, I want her there more. Again. And hopefully not crying this time.

Just when I think she's about to protest, she shrugs as though saying to herself, What's the harm? and scoots closer to me, settling against my side, her head pillowed on my shoulder. My arm wraps around her, and something about this just feels so right.

It's like the roles we fill have been stripped away—at last—and we're just two people taking comfort in one another. Because while I pitched this as just for her benefit, the reality is that I haven't been like this with anyone in … too long. I need it as much as she obviously does.

Her breathing evens out, and part of me wonders if she's falling asleep. I'm torn about that possibility, because as much as I'd like to hold her while she sleeps—maybe catch a tiny nap myself—I wasn't lying about what I said earlier about people talking. Mia knows she's in here, at the very least. And if she takes an excessive amount of time, Mia will make assumptions. And if she's assuming things, she'll likely mention it—even if only in passing—to others. She can keep a secret if she knows she needs to, but she wouldn't think this was secret worthy without being directly asked. And no one's more gossipy than a film crew on location where people sleeping with each other is commonplace, if often messy.

I'd just hate for Victoria to have to deal with that kind of fallout when we haven't even done anything.

Not yet anyway, whispers a devilish voice in the back of my mind.

Because the attraction I've felt to her from the beginning is still there. And if anything, this little interlude has only made it stronger. Her slim figure fits against me perfectly, her breasts pressing into my side, and as much as I'm keeping things chaste with over-the-clothes back rubs and cuddles, my thoughts are nowhere near as G-rated.

Then her hand strays over my torso, making slow sweeps up and down my side, and one of her upward strokes tugs my shirt up just enough that when she moves her hand back down, her fingers come in contact with my skin. The breath freezes in my chest, my heart picking up speed as I wait to see what she'll do next.

Instead of tugging my shirt back into place or simply moving her hand away like I half expect—half dread—she moves her fingers back and forth over the exposed sliver of skin, slipping beneath the hem of my shirt, and I let out my breath on a shuddering sigh.

"Your skin is soft," she whispers so quietly that I wouldn't hear her if there was any noise in my trailer besides the thundering of my own heartbeat.

I hum acknowledgment, then let my hand trail down her back, lower than I've gone before, finding a sliver of skin where her shirt has pulled up that I can exploit. Sliding my fingers into the opening, I flatten my palm against the bare skin of her back. "So's yours."

She lifts her head, her mouth only inches away, her eyes searching mine. When her gaze dips to my lips, I decide to take my opening. In one smooth movement, I capture her lips, and she lets out a soft gasp of surprise, though she wastes no time returning my kiss.

Her lips are as soft and plump as they look, and I press tiny kisses against them before angling my head to deepen the kiss. When I taste her, she opens for me immediately, sucking my tongue into her mouth like she hasn't been properly kissed in ages.

My arm tightens, and I pull her closer with the hand on her back, my other hand diving under her hair to hold her in place so I can get my fill of kisses from her. Give her exactly what I know she's craving.

But her fingers wrap around my wrist, pulling back, her lips parted and swollen as she examines my eyes once again. Then she drops her gaze, clearing her throat and carefully extricating herself from my hold.

"I'm sorry," I blurt out immediately, not sure what happened or how it went wrong, but knowing I need to say something.

She straightens her clothes, arching an eyebrow when she glances at me. "Are you?"

Chuckling, I run a hand over my face and shake my head. "If you're upset, then yes, I am sorry. Because that's not what I want."

She runs her hands through her hair a couple of times, eyeing me. "I'm not upset. I'm just not sure …" She waves her hand between us.

"You're not sure about what exactly?"

Sighing, she crosses her arms, cocking one hip to the side. "I'm not sure this is a good idea. For one, my daughter is in the costume trailer with Mia right now, and I've already been in here far longer than necessary for costumes that fit perfectly. For another …" She looks away.

Standing, I step toward her, rubbing a hand down her arm. "For another?" I prompt, needing her to spell out her objections so at least I know.

She blinks a few times before looking up at me. "For another, you're … you." She unwraps one of her hands enough to gesture up and down my torso.

Grinning, I shake my head. "And?"

She rolls her eyes, shaking her head, and something about that gesture is so endearing. I can't remember the last time a woman rolled her eyes at me like this. Usually the women I date—or at least pretend to—are too interested in what they can get from me to express this kind of exasperated irritation. It's refreshing. Even though what she said that first night I invited her in for a drink made me think she only saw me as a famous actor, maybe …

"You're Hayden Maddox!" Her hands fly to her face, her eyes closing. "Oh my god. I can't believe I just kissed Hayden Maddox," she mutters, and it's clear that's more for her benefit than mine.

My mouth twists all the same. "That'll be a fun story for your friends." I can't help the bitterness lacing my tone, and it shakes her out of her astonishment or mortification, her eyes opening, looking me up and down, returning to her arms crossed, hipshot stance.

"I'm sorry, are you suggesting that I stand to benefit from this in some way?"

I scoff, rubbing my face again and stepping back, propping myself against the counter. "Don't you?"

She looks around. "How exactly do you figure? I've been the subject of enough gossip, thank you very much, and I'm not keen to paint a target on my back again. And someone like me getting involved with someone like you? Everyone in the world would eat out on that for months. And when it ends, as it inevitably will, you'll be fine, moving on to your next movie star or model girlfriend, and I'll be the local girl you slummed it with, probably a gold digger or something, right? I mean, that's what you're implying already, isn't it?"

My lips part, a protest trying to form, but she shakes her head and waves me off before I can say anything.

"Anyway. It's really not like it matters. I'm sorry for blubbering all over you. Thank you for being decent, at least for a few minutes. I do appreciate it. We can forget about the kiss, though. It was …" She shakes her head. "A mistake."

A mistake. Kissing me was a mistake for her.

I should be grateful. Happy that she's not planning on running around telling everyone she's my girlfriend or threatening to go to the tabloids with stories about how I coerced her for sexual favors or something. But somehow this feels like an even bigger slap in the face.

"I should go," she says, and she slips out the door, leaving me with my mouth still hanging open like an idiot to stew over the fact that she sees being with me as a liability.