Page 14 of Hot Nights in Morocco
“You wouldn’t dare. You wanted in on this movie, sweetheart. Your agent was on my back twenty-four seven for months. Don’t make me regret hiring you.”
There’s a pause, and then the sound of hysterical weeping. “You can’t keep breaking people’s hearts like this, Jake. There’s gonna be repercussions.”
“Oh, I doubt that very much.”
He sounds bored. I almost feel sorry for her.Almost…
“It doesn’t have to be like this. Let me love you again. You’re shouldering too much responsibility. Walt Wilson is happy to keep on running Global so you can stay producing movies. Brad’s really stepping up—”
“Christ, you have some nerve mentioning his name in front of me.”
“Brad’s history, and you know it.”
“I don’t give a shit. What’s done is done.”
“Screw you, Jake. And screw your stupid movie!”
There’s a clatter as another object smashes to the ground and then the sound of high heels heading in my direction.
Crap. As quick as I can, I turn to the photocopier behind me, yanking out the paper tray as Jake’s door flies opens. I can feel Cassie’s foxy brown eyes on me, scorching holes in the back of my white vest top. Taking a deep breath, I turn to face her, fixing a smile on my face as I do.
“Oh, it’syou.” She sniffs at me like I’m gum on the red sole of her black Laboutins. “Tell me, honey, wheredoyou buy such awful clothes?”
“The same place you buy your hair extensions,” I say mildly.
That shuts her right up, and I watch in glee as she flounces out of the office, catching her heel in a crack in the tiles. I may not be as beautiful, but I have at least two brain cells, which easily makes me twice as smart.
The skin on my face starts prickling. I glance over to find Jake watching me. He’s leaning against the doorway to his office, his face expressionless, hands in pockets. A statue more beautiful thanDavid,with a complexity to rivalThe Thinker.
Our gazes hold. Straightaway that sizzling intensity is back. There’s a muscle working in his cheek, as if some monumental battle is taking place inside him. He takes a step toward me, then stops. “What the hell are you doing here, Books?”
My nickname has returned but his voice is low and hostile, like I’m trespassing on his territory. I’m overstepping some invisible line by being here alone with him.
“Max left his filming schedule behind,” I say, snatching one up from my desk and holding it aloft like it’s conclusive evidence in a murder trial. “He wants to go through it once more before shooting starts tomorrow.”
“Are you sure about that?” Jake doesn’t believe a word of it. “Max couldn’t give a damn about the schedule. He dances to his own fucking tune.”
“Family trait, is it?”
“What did you overhear?”
“Nothing, I swear.” I take a step back but the weight of the lie unbalances me. My foot twists and I crash sideways into the desk, smashing my left hip against the paper tray and sending Rachel’s scripts flying. The noise in the silent room is deafening.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”
Jake strides up to me and hauls me to my feet by my arm. His grip is firm and I’m assaulted by his delicious scent again. We stand like statues, breathing each other in.
Machismo.The word swirls around my head like a silver-gray mist. The scope, the bluntness, the power. He makes every man I’ve ever stood next to pale into insignificance. He still hasn’t let go of my arm. I daren’t look at him, so I stare at his chest instead, fighting an overwhelming urge to rest my forehead against it.
“You shouldn’t be here, Books.”
A strong finger curls under my chin and tips my head back to meet his gaze. His eyes are firing cold, dark bullets into mine.
“Story of my life,” I mutter. Somehow, I know that if I glance downward I’ll see the outline of his erection pushing against the fabric of his jeans. The same way my nipples are pushing against the thin cotton of my top.
Ohmigod ohmigod ohmigod.
He inclines his head and for one breathtaking moment I swear he’s going to kiss me, and then he’s jerking his hand away like my skin is contaminated, as though I’m the Chernobyl of temptation.
