Page 11 of Hot Nights in Morocco
“I didn’t have to take the gig, baby,” she purrs, changing tack and moving in for the kill. “I did it for you, remember? After Marrakech, I thought—”
“Fuck Marrakech! Don’t kid yourself. You wanted an Oscar and you knew damn well my script gave you a shot at it. As far as I’m concerned, this matter is done.”
“No, Jake, not this time. I’m not setting foot on that set until you give me what I want.”
There’s a horrible pause before his hand shoots out and clamps around the back of her neck like a vise. Moments later, their lips are crashing together in a sickeningcrunch. Her response is immediate. She digs her fingers into his hair and kisses him back twice as hard. As for me, I’m too shocked to move. I’m a voyeur to the most crazy, heart-stopping thing I’ve ever witnessed.
The brutal kiss lasts a few seconds before he’s pulling away. Their faces are frozen millimeters apart as they bask in each other’s body heat. “Cut me some slack here, Cassie,” I hear him murmur. “You owe me, remember?”
The breath catches in her throat. She’s as affected by him as I am. Is that why he kissed her? To shut her up? If so, then he’s a master manipulator as well as a beautiful bastard, and he just plummeted sixty floors in my estimation. I hate men who play twisted games with others’ emotions. To me, it’s the worst kind of deceit.
I turn to leave, but my movement catches his attention.
“Wait, Books.”
He relinquishes the woman and a flicker of regret crosses his face before that mask of cold indifference smothers it again.
“Who the hell isshe?” demands the woman, her hands flying to her neck. The marks from Jake’s fingertips are still blanching her skin.
He blinks at me. “Max’s new assistant.”
“I don’t care if she’s George Clooney’s punching bag. What the fuck is she doing inmytrailer?” She turns her cat-like fury onto me. “Get out!”
“No.” Jake’s voice is like a thunderclap. “I want her opinion on this.”
“You do?” I stare at him in disbelief, marveling at how quickly this scenario has shifted.My opinion on what? That kiss?
“You’re gonna consult withthat?” The woman—Cassie—sounds stunned, but Jake ignores her. His eyes are glinting at me with an unforeseen challenge. They’re all I can see. It’s like he’s hypnotizing me. He takes a step in my direction and I automatically take a step back. He clocks this and frowns.
“I have a question for you.”
I lick my lips. “Okay.”
“As an unbiased observer, do you think this trailer is comfortable enough?”
I blink.Is he serious?Excess is all around me, stifling me. It’s so in-my-face that it’s practically wearing me—from the softest, creamiest shag pile to the Italian leather couches and the fifty-inch flat-screen.
“Comfortable enough for whom?” I mutter. “A Disney princess or the Queen of Sheba?”
Jake’s lips twist with the faintest trace of a smile. “Exactly,” he says, turning back to the other woman who is looking like she wants to rip me apart with her French manicure. “Cassie, there is simply no question of us shipping in another trailer for you. This one is perfectly adequate. I expect to see you on set first thing tomorrow morning. On schedule.”
He brushes past me and exits the Winnebago, leaving me quailing in the face of Cassie’s rage.
“I’ll just…” My words tail off as I spin around to follow him out.
“Yeah, you do that,” she says, her upper lip curling in distaste. “And don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out.”
I whip round super quick to deliver a choice riposte. That’s when Jake reappears, grabs my arm, and hauls me out of the trailer behind him. He stops once we’re outside, whirling me around to face him. I’m still on the top stair, him on the bottom, but our eyeline is on par. His beauty this close-up is mesmeric. His eyes are so dark they’re almost the same color as his hair. The shadow of stubble ornamenting his jawline is a field of the sweetest razor wire, and I can feel his hot breath on my skin.
“Rule number two,” he rumbles, still holding onto my arm. “Don’t takeanythingpersonally, especially not from the likes of her.”
“Shouldn’t that be: ‘always turn a blind eye when the producer decides to get a little toopersonalwith his actors’?” I hiss, yanking my arm free.
He cocks his head to one side and smirks. “Oh, dear, have I offended your delicate sensibilities?”
My jaw drops.
“I don’t need to explain myself to anyone, Books,” he says, his gaze dropping to my open mouth for a split second. “Least of all to my brother’s assistant.”
