Role Play(Plaything #4)(7)

I turned to the pot of potatoes to hide my smile.

Aidan walked into the miniature kitchen and instantly took up most of the free space. He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a beer. As he spun back around in the tight space, we ended up face to face and toe to giant toe. The potatoes and roasted chicken had lent their own heat to the small kitchen, but it was nothing compared to the heat swirling between us. The butterflies had returned and they were extra active.

I peered up at him and smiled. "Oh wow, looking up at you from this close proximity makes me almost dizzy. Like staring up the side of a skyscraper." I knew there was a good chance it wasn't his height that was making my head spin.

He reached up and brushed a strand of hair off my forehead. "I'm starting to think busting through your door wasn't such a bad thing after all."

"Me too." I stepped out of the way to let him pass. "I hope you like roasted chicken." I realized that my ability to flirt had been dampened by my time with Brock. That should have been my first indication that we weren't good together because it sure seemed to me that in a good relationship there was always room for sexy flirting. But I was severely out of practice, which was probably not good for an actress. And I was feeling especially out of practice around Aidan, who oozed sexual confidence.

"When it comes to me and food, you really can't go wrong. And my mouth is watering from the aroma." He sat up on the counter stool, and I set to work mashing the potatoes.

"This place should have a doorman or some kind of intercom so uninvited guests can't just come through the elevators."

I poured milk into the potatoes. "This is not exactly a doorman or intercom type of place. That's why the rent is so affordable." I looked over at him. "Which begs me to ask—why are you living here? Surely you could afford a better place."

Aidan seemed hesitant about answering my question. Suddenly it occurred to me that he might have been going through a nasty divorce or maybe he was terrible with money. I hadn't seen anything about a wife in my nosy search of his name but then I hadn't looked much past the stories about rowdy parties and multitudes of women.

"That was way too busy body of me. Forget I asked that. You can live where you like."

"No, it wasn't the question. It was the answer. I haven't been wealthy long, and sometimes it feels wrong to talk about good fortune when—"

"When you're talking to someone who Lady Luck has not smiled upon?"

He looked especially handsome when he was contrite, and it was always such a funny contrast to his imposing physical presence.

"Aidan, don't be ashamed. You've made it. You obviously worked hard and you achieved success. I hope to do the same someday. Lady Luck just hasn't found me yet. Neither has any director or producer of note. But I'm not giving up."

"And you shouldn't. You would be stunning on the big screen. Almost as sexy as you are standing in my tiny kitchen mashing up a bowl of potatoes."

I laughed as I pushed the masher into the bowl. "I do make this look erotic, don't I?"

"More than you know." The change of tone caused me to look up from my task. Aidan's brown eyes held mine for a long moment and then I dragged my gaze away.

I pulled the chicken out of the oven and set about carving it into pieces. Aidan watched with keen interest, but I wasn't convinced that it was the chicken that held his attention.

"I can go to my apartment after dinner to practice my script. I don't want to get in the way of your evening."

"I've got nothing planned. I could help you practice if you need it. I could read the part of the person you're talking to. Just don't expect any kind of quality acting."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

"Great. It's always easier if I have someone to bounce the lines off of. We can start after dinner."





Chapter Twelve





Aidan





I was trying to figure out why this seemed so different than usual. Normally, I met a woman, and once it seemed there was good physical attraction on both sides, there were a few dates, maybe a night of clubbing followed by a few weeks of great sex. And while I'd thought about sex with Jane more than I should have, there was still something else that made this different. It might just have been Jane. She was smart and funny and resilient, and she made one hell of a roasted chicken. Her feet were planted solidly on the ground, too solidly probably. A nice girl like Jane would have little interest in a man whose reputation with women was less than stellar. I had to remind myself that she was only sitting in my apartment because, thanks to me, she had no place else to go. Once the door was back up, she might very well scurry across the hallway to her place and never look back. I hoped to hell that wasn't the case, but I was prepared for exactly that. So far I'd shown myself to be a giant, impulsive blockhead. Still, I didn't regret pushing that asshole, Brock, up against the wall. The second I saw him grab Jane's arm and then follow that up with an insult, I knew I wanted to flatten him. Maybe that was what was different. I felt this internal need to protect Jane, as if she was mine to keep safe.

I combed back my wet hair and pulled on a clean shirt and jeans. Jane was sitting on the couch with her suntanned legs stretched across to the coffee table and a script on her lap.

"Oops.” She dropped her feet off the coffee table. "I'm acting like I'm at home."

"I put my big feet, shoes and all, on the table all the time. And I'm glad you feel at home." I patted my stomach. "Dinner was delicious. I'm stuffed."

"Are you?" She looked up at me. Her eyes were an almost ethereal green, like some kind of rare jewel. "I was trying to calculate in my head how much a man your size might eat. I wanted to make sure there was enough."

I glanced at the papers on her lap. "Is that the movie script?"

"No, actually this is the script for the Mystery weekend. I play the flirtatious maid. I actually don't get killed until the second night. Which means double pay. Victim of a jealous wife, of course."

I sat down next to her. "A flirtatious maid? I'm intrigued. Is there a costume to go with that role? Something like that extremely hot sequined dress you were wearing the other night?"

"You mean the one with the bullet hole and blood?"

I nodded. "It was a little bit gory, and yet, it is still firmly in my head as extremely hot."

"Is that right?" She scooted around, dragging one leg up on the couch to face me. "I wasn't sure if you noticed or not." Our first meeting had been awkward and the second one even more so, but as we eased into knowing each other, it seemed we were beginning to relax.

"Oh, I noticed. And that's why I'm now equally anxious to see the maid costume."

"Well, I pick it up tomorrow. If you're around you might catch a little fashion show." She put the mystery script up on the table and picked up a much thicker stack of paper. "This is for the movie."

She plopped it on the couch between us. I turned to face her, leaning against the arm of the couch. "I've memorized my lines so you can use the script. You are playing the part of Jacob, a roguish intelligence spy who has fallen hard for Kelly, an international journalist and a rather spoiled, self-centered woman, if I do say so. The part we're reading is when Jacob and Kelly have met up again after they murdered Kelly's abusive, wealthy financier husband. They had been laying low and avoiding each other to throw off any suspicion and now they've met up in a squalid little flat in Moscow. The problem is Kelly's having second thoughts about Jacob. Told you, she's spoiled." She picked up the script. “Every time you see the name Jacob, that's your line."

"I think I can handle that."

She sighed. "Are you sure you're up for this? I could do this alone in my apartment and you could—"

"Do what? Scroll through a billion cable and movie channels and never actually stop on anything for more than a minute? Besides, I might be part of history in the making here. I might be the guy who rehearsed lines with future box office legend Jane Briggs."

"Or you might just be delusional, but thank you for putting up with this." She took a deep breath. "I've got the first line."

"Action."

Jane suddenly hopped up on her knees. "Jacob, how can this end happily?" Without warning she climbed onto my lap and wrapped her arm around my neck, placing her free hand against my chest. She nestled her ass against me just to position herself. I had to work hard to mask my physical reaction. My cock was suddenly wide awake and asking what the fuck was going on.

Jane paused and I realized it was my turn to speak. There were a lot of extra marks and lines on the page, but even with the unexpected introduction of my raging erection added into the mix, I managed to find my line. "Of course it will end happily. The evidence is leading them away from us. It's working out just like we planned." My stilted delivery was comical, but she was kind enough not to laugh.

Jane rested her head against my shoulder. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to touch her or not, but I couldn't stop myself from wrapping my arms around her back. The side of her breast brushed against my hand, adding fuel to the fire below.

"Jacob, I have nightmares," she said sadly. "Constant nightmares."

A long pause followed. Jane cleared her throat to remind me it was my turn to talk. "Sorry, I'm pretty bad at this." I lifted the script higher and cleared my throat. "Nightmares? What nightmares?"