Page 44 of Falling Like Stars

The crew prepares and Zachary keeps his distance. Or maybe it’s me giving him space as much as I can in the tiny cabin. The director calls “Action,” and I watch with awe as the sweet, considerate Zachary I know is consumed by his character. His handsome face is somehow haggard by grief and haunted by the memories of his dead children.

Marilyn Vega, the actress playing Meg, rings her arms around his neck and forces him to look at her.

“Stay,” she whispers, planting kisses on his neck, his jaw, his chin. “Stay with me.”

Stay on this earth, is what she’s really telling him. Zach-as-Jacob resists at first and then finally allows his mouth to be drawn to hers. Over and over again, they shoot this kiss, this surrender. My own mouth parts each time hers does and my imagination is fraught with what it must feel like to be kissed by him, what he must taste like…

“Cut!”

I startle so hard the boom operator gives me a look. The intimacy coordinator appears. A brief discussion is held between her, Zach, and Meg. Then they go again. This time, the kiss morphs, builds, until Jacob turns Meg around, hauls up her skirt and takes her from behind. The simulation looks completely real, and I can’t tear my eyes away. Heat rushes through every particle of me even as I’m riveted at the performance. Jealousy for Jacob purging his pain mixes with red hot desire for Zachary who is showing me what he’s capable of.

The scene is harrowing, emotional, and sure to win both actors a slew of awards. When it’s over, the actors go to their separate corners, wash their faces, drink water, put on warmer clothing—like a reverse metamorphosis from nearly naked and raw to bundled up and casual. Marilyn and Zach hug, their intimacy vanished and replaced by the easy comradery of coworkers. They drink coffee and watch the playback with the director, analyzing that scene of brokenness and salvation as if it were a football play that might need tweaking before the big game.

I’m not needed so I leave the small cabin and step around the corner to cool my cheeks. Green trees trimmed with white surround me on all sides, like my own cabin if it ever snowed in LA. The wind has picked up and the cold air is beginning to freeze my face, and yet I still feel as if my blood is on fire.

I take several steadying breaths and am about to go back in when I hear a crunch of steps in the snow. Zachary appears. He’s left all vestiges of Jacob behind, as if they were two separate men. He’s bundled against the cold in a jacket and beanie that somehow makes him look endearing and ruggedly masculine at the same time.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his breath coming in white plumes. “I mean…I don’t know what I’m saying but…”

I stare, stunned. He’s apologetic. As if he’d cheated on me.

“That was incredible,” I blurt.

He blinks, uncertain. “Okay. In what way…exactly?”

I start to laugh at his boyish expression, but the memory of him, his hips moving, his hands gripping, his body thrusting…nothing boyish about that. I give my head a shake and step closer.

“All of it. The way you revealed his pain and how you made it look so terrible and horrible but also heartbreaking and necessary and so…so…”

My words fail as I realize I’m making fists in Zachary’s coat with both hands, pulling him to me. He glances down to where I’m clutching him, a smile dancing over his lips. But his eyes darken when they find mine again.

“You’re not upset?”

“No.” My chin is tilting up. My mouth wanting his. “It’s your job.”

Zachary’s hands come up to touch my cheeks. He’s wearing warm gloves but it’s not enough. I need heat. I need his skin. I need his mouth on mine…

“Rowan.” My name is steam off his lips. “Thank you.”

“For what?” I’m pulling him tight to me, but I can’t get him close enough.

“For being how you are…with me.”

His words are just starting to sink into my chest when Zach closes the final distance between us and kisses me.

Chapter Twelve

ROWAN’S MOUTH PARTS for me readily. Eagerly. I’m still stunned that she isn’t pissed about the sex scene; I’m so used to Eva’s hysterical reactions. But all thoughts of Eva—of the entire fucking planet—vanish as Rowan deepens our kiss with a need that sets my blood on fire. She wants me, and I know it’s the real me and not some version she’s conjured from movies or TV. Her desire is pure, and the want I’ve felt for her since we were alone together in the hot tub the first night finally breaks free.

The force of my want shoves her against the rough cabin wall, but she takes it. She takes all of my kiss, our tongues dancing, delving deep, biting, sucking… She pulls me as tight to her as I’m pressing into her, as if we’re both trying to melt the bulky clothes between us to get to skin… Being naked with this woman is suddenly all I’ve ever needed. To take her hard, to make her feel wanted; to hold her after and then have her again. Have something real…

Rowan makes a sound like a gasp, as if she’s been stung by a thought. She pulls back, pushing at my chest with her small hands that are ungloved in this cold. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips swollen with my kisses, chin red and chafed from the thin beard I’d grown for this part. And her eyes…Rowan’s spectacular clear blue eyes, rimmed with dark blue, hold mine, glassy with want but something like fear too.

“Zach…” she breathes. “I-I need to tell you…”

“Tell me what?” I ask, my own breath still ragged. Rowan hesitates, all of her usual hard-edged confidence melted away. She looks almost panicked. Her jaw works but no sound comes out.

“Hey, it’s okay.” I take her hands in mine to warm them. “Let’s go somewhere and talk—”

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