Chapter 19 Jack #2
Logan laughs. Loudly. “Don’t worry, we haven’t changed things up on you—it’s still a kissing scene…
but while Jasmine’s instinct is always to make things subtle, shrink them down, we don’t really want that here.
All that repressed Regency bullshit is fine up to a point, but we need some heat.
Less Austen, more lusty wenches making out in the rain, right? ”
“ Lusty wenches .” I repeat his words again, unable to do anything else.
There’s a tremor of laughter in my words, but Logan nods seriously.
“Right, so… you know, you’re the pro here, and Cynthie is doing fine, but I don’t want to overwhelm her with notes.
I mean, at the end of the day she just has to stand there and take it, right? ”
I blink. This is a horrifying insight into Logan’s romantic life, and I have no idea how to respond except with commiserations for whichever poor girl he’s currently seeing. Also, maybe the number of a good therapist.
“I think it’d be best for Cynthie to be an… active participant,” I say finally.
“Sure, sure.” Logan nods again, wisely. “Active in a sexy way.”
Thankfully, Jasmine chooses that moment to interrupt, with Cynthie trailing behind her.
“Are you feeling good about the scene, Jack?” Jasmine asks, shooting her brother a death stare.
“Er… yes?” I reply. Cynthie has lost the sunglasses, and now when I meet her eyes, she looks similarly shell-shocked. I wonder what Jasmine has been saying to her.
“Okay.” Jasmine starts walking us through the scene.
“So Edward rides into shot, and then ideally we want a smooth transition from the dismount into a purposeful stride toward Emilia.” She looks over at the horse.
“Lucy has assured me that if you drop the reins, Reckless Ed will stand still, out of shot. Then, Emilia steps toward him and says her line,” Jasmine continues.
“?‘I thought you had left,’?” Cynthie murmurs.
“And then, Jack, you take Cynthie in your arms,” Logan says. “Passionately. Think hot thoughts.” He winks.
Jasmine sniffs. “Try not to make it look like you’re mauling the poor girl. She’s an innocent, and Edward is a gentleman after all.”
“People don’t want the gentleman to be a gentleman about things all the time, Jas.” Logan rolls his eyes. “You’re such a prude.”
“I’m not a prude!” Jasmine snaps. “I appreciate a bit of tasteful erotica as much as the next person.”
I wince and catch Cynthie doing the same.
“I’m extremely sex-positive,” Jasmine continues on a huff. “But we can’t suddenly stick a rampant sex scene at the end of what is an elegant, thoughtful—”
“But tongues, yeah?” Logan interjects here with a wave of his hand.
“As long as that’s cool with you guys.” He looks at me and Cynthie, wide-eyed, and I have no idea how to respond to this.
“ Plenty of tongues ,” Logan adds, and this time I do laugh, because he sounds like a mad pervert.
This man is a decade older than me, but sometimes I feel like I’m talking to a horny teenager.
Cynthie also makes a funny choking sound.
“Fucking hell, Lo!” Jasmine explodes. “I swear, if you had your way there would be a high-speed car chase ending with Edward shagging Emilia on the hood of a monster truck!”
“Not all of us can get excited over ten minutes of a leaf falling in slow motion, Jas!” is the response. “Even if it does symbolize the inevitable decay of human existence.”
“Okay,” I interject, torn between anxiety and amusement. “So I take Cynthie in my arms, then say my line, ‘How could I leave my soul behind me?’ and then we… kiss.”
This time when my eyes meet Cynthie’s she swallows.
“The rain machine is ready,” Marion calls, and thankfully, after a little more back and forth and several specific but contradictory instructions about hand positions and angles, this meeting concludes and we start getting into place.
“Can Jack lose the jacket?” Logan asks.
“Why would he be riding without his jacket?” Jasmine’s tone is venomous.
“Um, because he’s rushing to her in a fit of passion?” Logan replies. “Look, I know you don’t like it, but please give me the wet shirt moment. The audience will love it.” His eyes get big, his hands clasp, pleading.
Jasmine eyes me speculatively, and eventually she must decide that the sight of me in a wet shirt falls into the category of tasteful erotica. “All right,” she says finally, grudgingly. “I can see it; we’ll give it a go.”
Mandy from wardrobe rushes over and takes my jacket and the tie at my throat, and opens my collar just one restrained, Jasmine-approved, button. (Logan, I’m convinced, would have it undone to my waist given half a chance.)
Cynthie is hustled into position, her waterproof coverings removed, and I can already see that the shot is going to be beautiful.
She looks ethereal, standing in her white dress with the mist swirling around her skirts.
Her head is uncovered for once, dark hair curling damply against the pearlescent glow of her skin.
Something twinges in my chest.
“Sorry, I just have to…” A blushing runner approaches me with a glorified Super Soaker and proceeds to spray me down so that I’m not entering the scene in totally dry clothes.
Patty rushes over afterward to tousle my damp hair. “God, this is really working for you,” she says with a wink.
“First positions!” Marion calls, and I make my way to Reckless Ed, hoisting myself up in the saddle. He gives a happy whicker, which I hope means that he’s planning on cooperating. I turn him around a couple of times, just to make sure, and he follows my lead flawlessly.
“Cue rain!” someone shouts, and the rain machine is switched on, water pouring at high enough speed from the tall stands to create a light shower.
As agreed, I stay where I am, outside the circle of the rain, but Cynthie is getting wet pretty quickly—not that she so much as flinches.
She stands perfectly still, waiting for action to be called.
I take a breath to center myself, to let go of everything that isn’t Edward and this moment.
As always before we begin, I feel my adrenaline spike.
“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.