Page 39 of All That Glitters

The script is the elephant in the room.

I head down to grab some food and coffee the next morning, and it’s sitting there on the kitchen table, ready to be pried open. There are no notations on it yet. I haven’t been able to bring myself to write in the margins, things for me to remember. I’ve barely been able to get through the entire thing without thinking of everything that will be asked of me, required for memorizing and characterization, without shuddering.

I’ve read through it twice, and every time, I end up closing it halfway through and having to do something else.

Then there’s the guy who brought the elephant in the room.

Marcus stands at the stove, his back toward me, and aside from a quick tightening of his shoulders, he won’t turn around or even acknowledge my presence.

Fucker.

He knows I’m here; otherwise, he wouldn't have bothered to make breakfast. There are two plates on the counter next to him, turkey bacon already plated on both of them, while he stirs the scrambled eggs in the pan.

I dreamed about him again.

The nightmare of the plane crash had shifted somehow, so I was in the seat with Marcus strapped in at my side. Rather than going down and waking up in a ball of fire, the scene shifted to the two of us alone in bed, his beautiful cock in my hand, between my legs, his teeth on my neck.

I ended up waking up with a completely different tenor of scream in my throat.

I liked it. I liked it when he took what he wanted from me and ordered me around until he got me in just the right place.

I’m too scared to look deeply at what kind of person that makes me.

Not when my mouth already starts to water at the sight of his t-shirt clad back and the way his gray sweatpants hug his lower half.

Talk about awkward.

Thinking about the taste of him has moisture pooling between my legs, even as my back proverbially goes up. How can one man turn me on and infuriate me so much? It makes no sense.

Not like I’ve got a lot of experience, but come on, even I know you’re supposed to fall for guys who treat you like princesses, not a problem. I’d been ready to beat the ever-loving crap out of him last night until he told me to get on my knees and then…what? I became some kind of glutton for punishment?

Opened my mouth for him without a word or a bite?

I keep my groan to myself and walk stiffly to the table, dropping into my seat to wait for Marcus to finish plating. He walks equally stiff to the table and drops the plate in front of me with a clatter, neither of us looking at the other or bothering to speak.

Fine by me.

It’s so much easier to go back to ignoring him. I ignore what we did last night, even though my mind is struggling to believe it actually happened.

With the script waiting for me, there’s no doubt in my mind what Marcus wants me to do today. And with River out of the county at another live event, I’ve got a wide-open day to read.

I shovel the first forkful of scrambled eggs into my mouth and grab the script, searching for a scene, one I’d struggled with since the first read. It’s the first time Alicia and Mr. Patterson actually go through with their seduction, a little over halfway through the film after a cat and mouse game where he finally steps into the trap she set, but things are not exactly what Alicia thought they would be. Sounds familiar, too familiar.

Chewing thoughtfully, I land on the scene and fold the corner over to make sure I won’t lose my place.

If he wants to force me to go through with the charade of filming for Parker Heath, then I will. Marcus made it clear I don’t have a choice in the matter. Kicking and screaming, he’ll make me do it, like I’m some kind of robot or marionette for him to maneuver.

I don’t need to make it easy on him, though.

I might not kick and scream, I decide, snapping into one of the crispy pieces of bacon, but I’ll make it painful for him. I’ll torture the man within an inch of his sanity. The idea brings a rotten smile to my face.

“Are you willing to go over a scene with me?” I ask lightly, staring at my plate.

I want him to feel every bit as awkward as I do this morning, and if forcing him to play with me is going to get to the end result of suffering, then so be it. He wants a spoiled little brat? I’ll give him one. I’ll make him hold my hand every step of the way until he’s ready to scream and pull out his own hair for a change.

Marcus finally turns from the stove with his face a mask of indifference, stern and handsome and giving nothing away. “I would be very happy to help you once we’re done eating,” he says in a calm and collected tone I automatically hate.

“Then you better hurry up and eat.” I smirk at him and use the same tone as I say, “You’re wasting time.”

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