Page 36 of Hot Set

Jack stills and then draws a long, deep breath. “Being an actor is to be physical. It comes with the territory.”

I slide my hands free and scoot away to look him in the eye. “And that territory opens up multiple interpretations.”

Jack huffs out a breath. “You expect me to keep my hands tied behind my back? That’ll paint me as a standoffish prick.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

He closes his eyes for a long moment. “If I worry I’ve upset you every time I toss an arm around Niks’s—or any other female in the cast’s—shoulder, I’ll go mad. You have to accept that a certain level of familiarity and touching is part of the world I live in.”

“I do, and there’s an easy fix to eliminate this issue. Friendship. You won’t have to check yourself or worry about upsetting me.”

His hands ball into fists. Veins stand out on his forearms. “I am fully capable of separating my private life from my professional one. You’re the one that seems to have trouble handling things that are part of the game.”

I spring to my feet. “Maybe I choose not to step into a situation where I’d have to constantly question that separation.”

His hands dart out, catching me and spinning me back toward him. “I don’t know how to say this more plainly. I have no romantic interest in Niks. Donal Cam will ache for Nieve, but Jack has nothing inside for that woman apart from whatever bond we need to play at to make the world believe we’re soulmates. It’s an illusion.”

Our eyes remain locked as he continues. “I have no reason not to tell you the truth and every reason to be honest with you.” He scratches his neck under his hair. “Since I’ve given you no cause not to trust me, how about taking a stab at it?”

I step out of his grip and wave my hands to encompass as much space as possible. My voice comes out breathy. “You’re asking more of me than a little bit of trust.”

“I know I am, but I have to. Accepting me is accepting the worlds I step into, the restrictions Meg and True Time slap on my business, and the circus that’ll be likely following me for years.” He crosses his arms and frowns. “I’m not going to apologize for where my life is going. I’ve worked for it, and I want it. If you must walk away, you must.”

“And you won’t try to stop me?”

One side of his mouth hitches up and his arms drop to his sides. “I didn’t agree to that.” A crease forms between his eyebrows. “I’m going to say something that may chase you away faster, but with you, my heart is beginning to override my head.” He takes one step closer to me, then another.

Jack lays his reality at my feet. No apologies about it. “This is who and what I am, Gillian.” He’s an actor crossing the line to star. There are professional obligations in his life that will twist my guts. This is his admission he won’t back down from the demands of his work or his image to spare my feelings.

Can I deal with that?

Self-preservation and rationality dig a finger into my shoulder and point to the exit door. Jack stands motionless, fixating on my face. When I don’t retreat, his hands graze my arms.

“If what I’m saying is too much a burden for you, I’ll stop. If I can. I’m a driven man, Gilly, and I see that in you as well. The first day I watched your beautiful golf swing, I wanted to fall to my knees. It was the blow of a sword, but a sword of silk, crackling and whipping in a windstorm. It was a poem, a song. The swing and you were one.” He drops his hands to my hips, pulling me closer. “I wanted so badly to connect with you. God, I nearly roared your name and ran to you right there on the tee.”

How can this man I’ve only known a handful of days make me feel more valued, more desired than Treat did in two years of intimacy? It’s a feeling I’m loathe to let go of. If I don’t take even a small chance to see where connecting with Jack leads, am I cheating myself out of a good thing I deserve?

For the love of God, why am I acting like this is a do-or-die decision? All those years of attempting to define the trajectory of my relationship with Treat have really screwed up my perspective on men. This gorgeous man wants to date me, and judging from the way he kisses, share some damn fine sex. Screw depravation. Taking a few steps further with Jack O’Leary doesn’t seal my fate. Right now, we’re nobody’s business but our own.

I slide my hands slowly over his shoulders, reveling in the contour of every muscle until my hands meet behind his neck. My objections to being with him fade more and more every minute we’re together.

My voice is quiet as I confess. “That night in the pub… It was so easy with you. So right. I couldn’t wrap my head around how attracted I was to you so fast, then you kissed me.”

“I had to.” His breath is hot and moist against my neck. “Like I have to now, if you’re not walking through that door.”

“I don’t see a door.”

He threads fingers into my hair, tilting my head back so his mouth has a straight shot to mine. His lips claim me, beginning in a slow rhythm as we savor the feel of moving together. The kiss ignites a steady burn that travels down my throat to my heart, inciting it to beat faster and faster until it’s racing so quickly I’m sure Jack can feel it against his rock wall of a chest.

Jack’s tongue slides over mine, tasting, teasing. He takes my bottom lip in his teeth, tugging gently. I rake my fingertips through the tight auburn curls of hair on his chest until I hit a ridge that makes me pull away from him and stare. A long scar stretches diagonally from the hollow between his pecs nearly to his left hip. I trace the length of it.

“My God, Jack. Where did you get this?”

He pokes a fingernail under the rounded top of the scar and peels it away from his skin. “From Lou in makeup.” In one quick motion, he yanks off the long strip that looks like a skinny worm, hissing as it tugs his chest hair. He tosses the rubbery scar over his shoulder.

I tap along the slight pink line the fake scar leaves on his skin, taking a detour to circle his nipple. It hardens beneath my touch.

Jack moans and wraps his arms around my back, sealing my body to his until I can barely breathe.

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