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There were promises and promises. Haydn could safely promise Teela good food, a big comfortable bed, a chance to relax away her post-show blues and a bunch of excellent mind-clearing orgasms without needing any more condoms for fear of pregnancy or STDs.
He could also promise he wouldn’t wreck her life by outing her as his mystery woman, though it did mean when they were out in public spaces Rick couldn’t control, like the park, he had to use disguises.
As promises go, that wasn’t bad for a weekend.
She thought sex without needing further protection was a great idea and the disguise was hysterical. She wasn’t wrong on either count.
What he couldn’t promise was that she wouldn’t fall a little in love with him.
Which is what made turning one night into a weekend an excellent idea wrapped carefully and tied prettily in a truly bad one.
Because he might fall a little in love with her.
He was a sucker for connections when they felt safe, and he was comfortable with Teela from the instant he realized she didn’t want anything from him on that balcony. He even trusted her rottweiler of a friend, Evie, and her office admin so-so-Sophie not to go selling the story of his one inch to the tabloids. They were obviously loyal to Teela and that’s not something easily traded.
Not that he couldn’t survive the worst press if it happened. Tell-all players usually came off as sleazy opportunists without any push from him, and if his reputation was threatened, he had no problem meeting fire with fire. But after the unplanned wetsuit-wearing footage had surfaced, his agent was keen for him to lay low in advance of his Oscar campaign tour. And a gossipy sex story wasn’t what he needed to appear when he was already failing to make any headway in his new starring role as global statesman.
He sucked in that role.
Rotten Tomatoes rottenest rating.
Not getting that promised phone call took him back to his days as a masseur, shoe-fitting shop assistant, sometime waiter and stagehand. He felt powerless. It was humbling, which was probably good for his ego. It was also frustrating and perplexing. He had no idea where he’d gone wrong or how to fix it.
Sometimes, out running with Rick, he’d have an epiphany. Be able to see more clearly the decisions he should make. This wasn’t one of those times and Rick was showing no mercy with the pace around the park.
“Back it off a bit,” he said.
Rick cast a quick look his way, did nothing to slow his roll. Bastard didn’t even raise a sweat. “Sixty-two days till
you start shooting Skin in the Game.”
Haydn was playing a search and rescue mission leader caught up in a deadly kidnapping. His character was an ex-marine who related better to animals than people. He could sympathize. His love interest was the kidnap victim. They had to go on the run together. They had to have naked, waiver protected, waterfall sex. He had to present like the kind of guy who could be an ex-marine, could go thrashing through the jungle, taking on bad guys and look good wet.
He’d almost lost this part to Rum of all people, because the director thought a younger man would have a better screen presence. He had a share of the profits instead of a fee and it was all going to buy satellite time to track aid pirates.
There’d be no backing off.
And since no epiphanies presented themselves, he distracted himself from the muscle grind with a roll call of highlights from last night.
The cutest part was that he’d made Teela nervous. She’d shown very little hesitancy outside of her initial discomfort about him buying her clothes on Friday night. And she’d been edgy and a little mean to him at her office. Not that it wasn’t deserved.
That changed once they got back to the suite. It was as if they’d reset the clock on their time together and she needed a minute to adjust. Truth be told, he did too.
He’d essentially chased her, not far admittedly, not for long, and she didn’t put up an actual fight, because he’d have come to his senses if she had and done what Rick wouldn’t, backed the fuck off the pace. Teela was the first woman he’d wanted to see more of in quite some time and damned if he could remember when he last chased a woman in any way.
Yeah, that thing about his ego being checked. Necessary. Fark.
He could’ve emailed her an apology or sent a fresh, more carefully written card that he signed himself. Or phoned her from any other place that wasn’t the corridor outside her office. Instead he’d gone all in, showing up in person, and pursued her like a damn stalker.
She’d been reluctant, and he’d given her space to throw him out and then he’d wooed her, which was also a novelty. Been a long time since he’d had to exercise wooing techniques.
Women were seldom reluctant. Usually it was only the ones with husbands they liked.
All that added a kind of unacknowledged gravity to the situation and they both knew it.
They didn’t make it all the way through last night’s movie. Which was? Who cares. Not one of his. Teela sitting close wearing her boy-style PJs from home led to casual touches, and then to not so casual ones—those little shorts on those perfect long legs were fucking hot. That all scaled up to full-on making out like bandits. This woman was fun. No pretenses. No mind games. If she was unhappy, he knew it. He didn’t have to guess her motives or guard himself against her ambitions, or assume she was on her best behavior to please him. Part of that was the limited-time deal, separated by oceans thing they were doing. Part of it was who Teela was.
And it was so refreshing he couldn’t get enough of her.
