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What was I doing here?
I didn't have a good answer to that question. Not even for myself.
Certainly I had no hope. No more than I ever did.
But mostly, I couldn't help myself.
I could not stay away.
She was the siren that called men to their destruction, and I was the first and most eager to answer that deadly call.
Every fucking time.
Always there was a debate in my mind when I did this, when I gave in and went to her again.
Was this heaven or hell?
I'd never been able to answer that question, and that was the whole fucking problem.
It was both.
I'd pulled strings to gain access to her trailer while she was on set. I'd done so promising I was just leaving her a gift and then I was supposed to go.
I didn't do that. I set her gift on the small table then promptly sprawled out on her sofa, loosening my tie, kicking off my shoes.
She had to have a break at some point. I had time. I'd wait.
I was dozing when the door opened some time later. I sat up with a start.
It was her, and for some reason she didn't call security on me.
Instead, she stepped in and closed the door behind her.
I took her in, let her presence wash over me, my eyes devouring her in nonconsecutive bites; her face, her legs, her hands, her lips, her feet, her eyes, her shoulders, her ankles, her chest, her neck, my eyes darting all over her like she might disappear.
Nothing I'd ever seen could touch her. She was as ravishing as she was unattainable.
So heartbreakingly lovely that I ached with it.
A familiar, gnawing pang started throbbing in my gut, and I let the pain wash over me for a moment, indulged in it.
There'd been changes since the last photos I'd seen of her. She'd colored her hair, for the part no doubt, lightened it up just a touch, but enough so that gold streaks overtook and dominated the color, making her some deep, tawny version of blonde.
She was dressed simply, outfitted for whatever scene she'd been doing in a soft white button up blouse tucked into a high-waisted, well-fitted light gray skirt. It was an almost conservative ensemble, until you took in the shoes. They were glittering ivory platform stilettos with a peep toe, and she wore them like a weapon.
I'd have bet money she'd made friends with the wardrobe person, that she'd had at least some say in those man-eater heels.
My eyes shot up to her face as her luscious mouth turned up mockingly at the corners, her fingers going to the front of her blouse, fingering the top button.
Without a word, she started to undress.
"Scarlett." Two syllables. Utter devastation.
She undid one button, and then the next, revealing silky cleavage, a lacy white bra.
"I didn't come here for this," I told her, trying my best to sound convincing.
We always said our lines, played our parts, but that didn't mean I wasn't sincere.
