Page 46 of Cast to be Mine

Three weeks ago, I’d been a nobody. Now I was the lead in a Jack Montana movie. I had a trailer with my name on it. A driver who ferried me to and from set like I was actually important. And what I decided was the hottest director in the business. He could easily be a leading man. Maybe he’d missed his calling.

I took a long sip of wine and let the warmth spread through me. He saw something in me that I couldn’t always see in myself. He’d worked with me instead of firing my ass. He’d found a solution instead of giving up on me.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face. The intensity of his gaze when he watched me perform. The way his lips curved into that gorgeous smile when I nailed a take. The heat in his eyes today when I’d suggested he stand in for Jack during the kiss. There wouldn’t have been much acting on my part if I had to kiss Micah.

Had to. As if it wouldn’t have been the highlight of my day.

I finished my wine and poured another glass, curling up on my couch with a throw blanket. The exhaustion of the day was catching up with me. Combined with the wine, my eyes slid closed.

I felt myself drifting off. I put my wine glass on the coffee table, telling myself I’d just take a few minutes before I dragged my ass to bed.

The dream came in fragments at first. Flickering images like an old film reel. I was Elena. Running through the corridors, heart pounding, breath coming in ragged gasps. The kidnappers were behind me. I could hear them calling out, their voices bouncing off the metal walls.

And then he was there. Not Jack. Micah.

He emerged from the shadows like a ghost, his dark hair disheveled, his blue eyes burning with determination. He grabbed my hand and pulled me into a hidden alcove, pressing me against the wall with his body shielding mine.

“Quiet,” he breathed against my ear. “They’re passing.”

I could feel the heat of him everywhere. His hard chest against mine, his thigh between my legs and his heavy breathing brushing across my neck.

The footsteps faded. We were safe.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, and the expression on his face made my stomach flip. Raw desire.

“Grace,” he said.

The raspy way he said my name practically melted me.

“Micah.”

And then he was kissing me. Desperate and all-consuming. The kind of kiss that curled your toes. His hands tangled in my hair. His tongue swept against mine. I arched into him, needing more, needing everything.

He lifted me easily, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carried me deeper into the ship. We tumbled onto something soft. His weight settled over me.

“I’ve wanted this,” he murmured against my throat, his lips trailing fire down my neck. “Since the moment you walked into that audition.”

“Then take it,” I gasped. “Take me.”

His hands found the hem of my shirt, pushing it up, his fingers tracing patterns on my bare skin that made me shiver. I pulled at his clothes, desperate to feel him, to close every last inch of distance between us.

He kissed me again, deeper this time, and I felt myself dissolving into sensation. The scratch of his stubble against my cheek. The strength of his arms caging me in. The hard press of his body against mine, evidence of exactly how much he wanted this too.

I moaned into his mouth.

I jerked awake on my couch, heart racing, skin flushed. I blinked, confused at first. I was on my couch. I woke myself up with my own moaning.

“Oh my God,” I muttered.

How embarrassing.

My body thrummed with unfulfilled desire, every nerve ending singing with the memory of a kiss that had only happened in my imagination. I craved his touch. I closed my eyes and tried to fall back into the dream.

But it was gone.

“Damn it,” I muttered and sat up.

My skin felt too tight. My pulse wouldn’t slow down. I could still feel the ghost of his hands on me, still taste him on my lips. This was getting out of control. I needed to focus. I had a job to do. A career to build. I couldn’t afford to be distracted by fantasies about my director, no matter how vivid they were.