“They’d like the two of us to play our characters, wearing clothes, makeup, even the props from the movie.”
“That sounds fine,” she said, clearly wondering why he’d felt the urgent need to discuss it with her right then. “Did they give you any other details?”
He tried to keep his voice easy as he explained, “The photo editor wants to do a pretty tight focus on the characters as a couple.”
He was pretty sure Valentina’s step faltered right before she said, “How tight a focus?”
“They want to portray the intimacy of the couple’s connection.”
She stopped in the middle of the lot, the fierce protector again, her cheeks flushed as she informed him, “I’m not okay with Tatiana being dressed up and photographed as some sort of nubile sex kitten.”
He wanted to smooth away the hard lines at the corners of her mouth. Not with his fingertips, but with his own mouth. With a kiss that would heal as much as it would arouse.
Soon, damn it. He needed it to happen before he lost his mind entirely over wanting her.
“Neither am I,” he said softly before clarifying, “From the conversation I had with the photo editor, I believe their goal is to highlight the romantic elements...not the sexual ones. And that’s the direction I’m pushing them to go in, too—for romance rather than sex. We see plenty of sex every day in magazines and on TV. But romance will stand out.”
He watched her long, smooth throat move as she swallowed. “Romance.” The word slipped from her lips with equal disbelief and longing. “That sounds—”
Her words faltered now just as her step had a short while before, not because she was worried about her sister being photographed with too few clothes on, but, he hoped, because she didn’t like the image of her sister being romantic with him. And there was only one reason that would bother her: if she wanted him for herself.
Finally, she got out the words, “You two are going to look great together in the magazine.”
Unfortunately, while he was glad to see she wasn’t nearly as immune to him as she tried to pretend, he hated hurting her in any way.
“Valentina, if you have any reservations at all about it, you need to let me know.”
But she had already stuffed the emotional woman away and was back to all-business. “I think the photo shoot sounds fantastic. People are going to see it and rush to the theaters to watch the two of you together on screen. And they won’t be disappointed.” She turned away to head back to her trailer. But then she stopped and faced him again. “Thank you for being so kind to my mother and her boyfriend.”
Frustration ate at him as he let her go back to her office, climb the stairs, and shut the door behind her. It had been a really, really long time since Smith hadn’t gotten exactly what he wanted, exactly when he wanted it. Not just because he was a movie star. Not just because he was wealthy enough to buy anything he wanted.
But because of the man he’d always been.
Smith knew how to focus, how to channel every last bit of his energy into his work. For the first time ever, even though the timing couldn’t be worse, he was considering turning that focus on a woman.
Hell, who was he kidding? It was pure need that was driving him to it, not some logical decision he was making. Because the truth was, he wanted Valentina so badly that the want, the need, was tearing at his insides. And it was a need only made worse by the sure knowledge that he could already have taken her, could easily have stripped her down and lowered her to the small leather couch under the window of her office for pleasure.
Once upon a time, her beautiful body would have been enough for him. And when he was younger, he would have believed that the easiest way to deal with the need would be to use his charm and looks to persuade her to have a hot, but very casual, film fling.
Only, something told him that uncovering that sensual layer wouldn’t be nearly enough. Not just because it would only fuel his need to know more about the rest of her...but also because he knew that if he risked touching only her body, she’d write off her heart entirely.
What the hell was happening to him?
He pushed one hand through his hair as he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket with the other. He hit speed dial on the number at the top of his list. Just hearing his mother’s voice had him smiling again.
“Hi Mom.”
“Smith, honey, how are you?”
“The movie’s going well.”
“I’m so glad to hear it.” She paused for a moment, and he knew she hadn’t been fooled by his reply about the movie and not himself. “And how is everything else?”
For as long as he could remember, Mary Sullivan had had a laser-sharp radar when something was bothering one of them. She never poked, never prodded, but was always there when they were finally ready to come for help and advice. Smith knew he’d called her because it was long past time for him to admit that he knew exactly what was happening to him.
“There’s a woman.”
“So I’ve heard,” his mother said softly. “Marcus and Nicola said Valentina was very pretty. Very sweet, too.”
Smith immediately thought back to the tears on Valentina’s cheeks during filming the previous day. She’d been so moved by the love story he’d written that the sweetness of her response had tugged at him, right in the center of his chest. It was why he’d given her the flower and the cinnamon bun—because they were both sweet, and both reminded him of her.
“She is sweet,” he confirmed to his mother. “And beautiful, and smart, and strong.” He blew out a hard breath. “And she won’t let me take her out on a date.”
Jesus, it was like being fifteen years old again and pouring his heart out over his mother’s chocolate chip cookies in the kitchen. Smith loved his brothers and sisters, but only with his mother had he ever admitted just how difficult his extreme fame had been for him at times, especially when it had reached a point where he could no longer go where he wanted, where he felt trapped under a magnifying glass. It had taken years to learn how to deal with it, and to find ways to make sure he lived his life according to his own terms, while still managing the demands of his fans and the media. Just like today, when he’d needed someone to talk things over with, Mary Sullivan had been the only person he could think of calling.
“Did she tell you why?”
“She doesn’t trust actors.” He had to admit, “And I don’t blame her. There’s a lot of scum in my profession.”