“Did you need me to do something?” I add with attitude.

“I want to apologize. For earlier. I was an ass.”


My heart skips. But I don’t let it show. “Yeah, you were. A monumental one.”

“I know.”

“Okay.”

“Okay, as in you forgive me?”

I shrug.

“Jesus. Can you turn and look at me while I talk to you? It’s no fun having a conversation with your back.”

I look at him over my shoulder. “Yeah, well, it’s no fun being yelled at in front of the whole crew.”

“I said I was sorry.”

“Oh, well, that’s okay then,” I retort.

“Jesus, woman, what do you want? Blood? I said I was sorry. I can’t do any more.”

Anger lancing through me, I spin around to face him. “I don’t want anything from you. You said you were sorry. We’re good.”

“From where I’m standing, it doesn’t look like we’re good.”

“What do you want? You want me to do a little happy dance or something?” I do a little dance on the spot, waving my hands around.

He laughs. “You’re fucking crazy.”

I stop dancing and frown. “Maybe because you make me crazy.”

“Right back at you, Pins.”

“Will you stop calling me that?” My hands go to my hips. So do his eyes.

“No,” he says slowly, dragging his gaze back up to mine.

“Fine. Then, I’ll just call you…Boner!”

I see a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. He knows I saw the hard-on he had earlier while filming.

His expression narrows. “You know, you should speak to me with more respect than that.”

“Why? Because you’re a big movie star, and I’m just a wardrobe assistant? Yeah, well, you know what you can do with that notion? I only give respect to people who earn it.”

“Oh, I’ve earned it all right.” His face is tightening with anger.

“You haven’t earned a dime of respect. You’re just an arrogant, jumped-up—”

I don’t get to finish my sentence because he cuts me off.

Well, his arm cuts me off when it reaches out, grabs ahold of me, and yanks me into his body.

Then, his lips are on mine.

Soft and sweet. Nothing like I was expecting but so much better. Pressed there, but he doesn’t make a move to kiss me further.

I pop open an eye. “Um, what are you doing?” I ask, breathless. Because I am breathless.

Vaughn West’s lips are currently on mine. Vaughn West, the movie star. Vaughn West, whom I’ve more than once used as a mental prop when spending alone time with my vibrator.

The fangirl in me is jumping up and down—even if he is an arrogant jerk.

His eyes open and stare into mine. “I’m kissing you. Is that okay?”

“Mmhmm.” I nod lightly, my lips still attached to his. “Totally. I was just checking because—”

“Pins.”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up, and let me kiss you.”

And I do. I let him push me back up against the shoe rack and kiss the hell out of me.

And, God, can the man kiss.

His tongue lightly sweeps over my bottom lip, and then he nips it with his teeth, making me moan.

One hand is cupping the nape of my neck; the other finds its way to the hem of my dress. His fingers brush over my bare skin, making me gasp.

He stills.

There’s a fraction of a beat where he just breathes against me. Then, he dives in again, and all bets are off.

His hand grabs my thigh and lifts. Hooking my leg around his hip, he presses into me.

And he’s hard.

I already saw his size earlier. It’s impressive.

And it’s even better pressed up against me.

I wrap my arms around his neck, crushing my breasts to his chest. My hips start to move against him without my control. It’s instinctual.

I suck on his tongue, and he groans.

“You feel so fucking good, Charly,” he says into my mouth. “Taste so good. Better than I imagined.”

He’s imagined this?

My confidence skyrockets. Well, it’s not every day that a man like him tells you he’s imagined kissing you.

We’re going hard at it, kissing like we’ve been starved of each other, his body molded to mine. I feel his hand wander to my ass, my dress lifting, and I wonder just how far this is going to go.

How far will I let it go?

Do I want him?

God, yes.

But in a warehouse?

No, I don’t think so.

Then, a door bangs, jolting us apart.

We’re staring at each other, chests heaving. His lips are swollen from my kiss, his cheeks flushed, his hair tousled. He looks like pure sex.

Good sex.

Hot, dirty, all-night-long sex.

I want him. Badly. Like I’ve never wanted a man before.

Footsteps start to come our way. I see panic fill his eyes, so I grab his hand and lead him away from the approaching footsteps, to the far end of the aisle and up toward the exit.

We fall out through the door, and I close it behind us.

It’s dark out, the area lit by one of the many streetlamps that dot the studio.

“So…” I lean back against the door.

“We shouldn’t have done that. I mean, I shouldn’t have done that.”

Oh. I deflate. All the good, amazing feelings I was having are gone, like the pop of a balloon.

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