Page 59 of Let’s Make a Scene

“Scene forty-five, take one.” The slate is clapped.

“Set!” comes from the camera operators.

“Action,” Logan shouts.

I urge Reckless Ed into a canter, and we move into shot, the sweet sting of the water cold against my skin.

When we reach our spot, I pull at the reins, and as he responds, I swing my leg over the saddle, dismounting before the horse comes to a complete stop. I don’t break stride as I move toward Cynthie. As the camera passes Reckless Ed to follow me, I’m barely aware of it—barely aware of anything but the woman standing in front of me.

I move toward her, eating up the distance between us with a desperation that feels utterly real.

Trembling in the rain, Cynthie looks up, her eyes enormous. Her lips—stained the color of ripe raspberries—part, and raindrops kiss her delicately flushed cheeks. My hand goes to her waist, and I pull her against me, hard. Her head tips back and she exhales in surprise. My other hand moves to the side of her face, and my thumb brushes under her jaw, presses over her pulse which jumps desperately beneath my touch. All the time the rain falls and falls, our bodies separated only by the thin, damp fabric of our costumes.

She opens her mouth to say her line, and I don’t know what happens—I don’t even know who I am in that moment—but I don’t wait, can’t wait, and my mouth comes crashing down on hers.

The world drops away.

Her lips part under mine with a whimper that sounds like relief, and she presses into me, deepening the kiss. I can’t get enough of the taste of her, the feel of her under my hands, under my mouth. For a handful of aching seconds, I forget the cameras, forget the audience. I’m Edward kissing Emilia, but I’m Jack kissing Cynthie too, and I know it. I tip her back in my arms, sweeping her up and off her feet, cradling her soft curves against my body and never breaking the kiss. I feel like I’m burning up from the inside out; I half expect the water around us to spit and sizzle. Every soft, desperate touch of her lips, her tongue, has me craving more, and I take and I take for as long as I can.

Finally, reluctantly, I pull back. Cynthie blinks, raindrops clinging to her long lashes, and for a moment I see the same panic that I feel, reflected in her eyes. We stare at each other, and I know that we’re not in character as my chest heaves, as she trembles in my arms.

“Cut!” Logan yells.

The sound of applause and whoops fill the air, and I slowly lower Cynthie to the ground. It’s like I’m seeing and hearing it all from a great distance. I don’t understand what just happened—all I really know is that it was the most unprofessional thing I’ve ever done.

Logan and Jasmine move toward us. I force myself to look at Cynthie again. I want to check in with her, but she’s avoiding my eyes. She’s so pale. Underneath the spots of pink blush Liam applied she’s bleached of all color.

“Oh my god!” Logan is giddy, practically skipping. “That was so fucking hot!”

“You cut the lines,” Jasmine says, sternly.

“I’m sorry.” I shift on my feet. “I don’t… It just… It felt right in the moment.” It sounds weak to my ears.

Jasmine treats me to a long look, but finally, reluctantly, she nods. “It was better,” she says. “And you won’t often hear a writer agree that cutting dialogue is the way to go. It felt”—she purses her lips here—“honest.”

I clear my throat. I guess honest is one word for it. I’d maybe go with disastrous.

“What do you think, Cynthie?” Jasmine asks.

When I look back at Cynthie, she’s still shaking—harder now—and although the rain machine has been turned off, I realize she’s standing, soaked in her thin dress. She must be freezing.

“Hey!” I snap, “can we get a blanket or something over here?” I touch her arm, and her skin is painfully cold, covered in goose bumps.

“It’s okay,” Cynthie says distantly. “I’m fine.”

And then she passes out in my arms.

Chapter 20 CYNTHIE

I can’t sleep.

It’s hardly a surprise, given the events of the day, but it’s still deeply frustrating. I don’t want to be lying awake, tossing and turning while I relive the passionate, scorching hot kiss that I shared with a man I hate. It’s bad enough that I’m going to be teased relentlessly for the rest of my life because I swooned away afterward. Maybe they should all be applauding my dedication to the role of Regency ingenue, because according to Patty, the sight of Jack catching me in his strong arms and yelling furiously at everyone was like something out of a novel.

It wasn’t the kiss. Not really. It was the hangover and the lack of sleep. It was dehydration, and the fact I hadn’t eaten, before being drenched in freezing cold water while wearing a glorified nightie. But that isn’t going to stop the rest of the cast and crew from mocking me about it. For ever.

I’d have thought Jack would be loving this, that there’d be plenty of smirks and dry comments about his prowess, but he looked utterly traumatized by the whole ordeal. I half thought the paramedics should have been checking him over instead of me.

I don’t know if it’s a good thing or a bad thing that Jasmine and Logan agreed we didn’t need to do another take of the actual kiss after my spectacularly embarrassing display. Probably for the best, because I wasn’t sure I could go through that again. I just hope that their confidence that they have a single, perfect take is not misplaced.