Chapter Forty-Four
Maddie
By the time the shoot wraps an hour after I saw Rayne last, the models finally dressed and long gone from the studio, I’m pretty sure I’m ninety percent sweat and ten percent starving.
It wasn’t a lie I told Rayne to get him to smile.
I have literally only survived on carbs and sugar all day, to the point that I felt sick right before he appeared in the studio like a tatted dark angel wearing nothing but dark cargo pants, a matching shirt, and a frown that could kill if he possessed such an ability.
“Great work today, guys!” I call while assistants break down the equipment around us. “Go hydrate, eat something that isn’t baked goods, and enjoy the rest of your night.”
One of my employees salutes me with a bottle, while another walks over with a heavy bag slung over his shoulder. As he passes, he comments, “Anyone ever tell you how terrifying you are when you’re focused?”
“It’s because I’m an artist. We’re like that,” I shrug nonchalantly.
Sadly, Zeke appears right behind me and narcs like a bitch. “You threatened Nero with a light stand.”
“Nero deserved it,” I counter, turning my eyes on the disaster of a man across the room who has the good grace to look almost sheepish as he flips me the bird.
I grin sweetly back at him, giving him two middle fingers, and he laughs with a shake of his head before he carries said light stand out of the studio.
There’s a light round of laughter around me, and I grin before I start looking for Rayne. He spent most of his time here with me, watching and waiting, but I lost sight of him roughly ten minutes before the shoot ended.
Wondering if I bored him to tears, I go in search of the tatted man.
Thankfully, it doesn’t take me long. I find him in my office, the lights dim except for the soft glow of the lamp stationed on my desk.
Warm amber lighting spills across the room while he sits in my office chair, scrolling absently through his phone.
Much like he did before, I can’t help but pause and take him in, leaning my shoulder into the doorframe as I run my eyes all over him.
Dark clothes, like always. Dark hair falling slightly into his eyes, hiding those pretty blues that look haunting and breathtaking.
He’s chewing on his lower lip, scraping his teeth over the pink flesh, slaying me where I stand.
Not for the first time, I’m convinced this man, along with the others, was handcrafted specifically to ruin my life.
And I’m completely on board with it.
Rayne’s gaze lifts the moment I step into the room, and his handsome face softens without delay. Those almond eyes fill with warmth, and he locks his cell without looking away from me, finally releasing the lip he was holding hostage to greet me. “Hey, mayhem. Shoot over?”
Nodding, I close the door behind me before crossing the room, beelining straight for the couch and dropping with a dramatic groan as soon as I’m close enough. “Yes, sir. All done for the night. The team is packing everything away, my work here is done, so I am ready to bounce as soon as you are.”
The cushions sink beneath my weight, a much-needed reprieve for my tired body, and I send Rayne a smile just as my head drops to the back of the couch. He looks me over quietly for a long moment before he says, “You look exhausted.”
“What do you mean? I look hot as fuck,” I correct, smiling over at him.
“That, too,” he agrees readily, mouth twitching with a smile he simply won’t give me. I’m pretty sure he knows I want all of the smiles, and he’s playing hard to get with them because he knows I’ll keep trying to earn them all. Bastard.
Grinning, I sink deeper into the couch, sighing deeply. For a minute, neither of us says anything, the studio noise distant from here but the only thing beside the ticking clock on the wall filling the room with any kind of sound.
Eventually, Rayne ditches my office chair and joins me on the couch, sitting close enough that I feel the heat of his body against my side. We fall into a comfortable silence, one that makes the room feel private and secluded, Rayne and me in our own little bubble.
My eyes close as I relax. At the very same time, Rayne reaches over and lightly brushes his fingers over my bare thigh where my shorts have ridden up.
It’s a small touch, gentle and soft, but it has the same power as if I stuck my finger into an electrical socket.
My body wakes up instantly, my heart hiccuping beneath my rib cage, while a rush of goose bumps breaks out over my skin.
Rolling my head on the couch, I find him already watching me, those pale eyes filled with depth and emotion. With my gaze connected to his, I softly say, “You disappeared earlier.”
His expression shifts only slightly, but I catch it nonetheless, watching him just as closely as he always watches me.
“I know,” he says.
“You okay?” I wonder, more than prepared to be left in the dark again.
Rayne quietly exhales through his nose before leaning back into the couch cushions, sinking down to match my position, his fingers still lightly tracing over my cooling skin. Just when I think he’s not going to answer, he finally confesses, “I got jealous.”
I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that, and I can do nothing but blink owlishly at my desk before turning to look at him again. “Sorry?”
Rayne’s jaw clenches slightly, almost like he regrets even bringing it up, but then he says, “Mhm. Didn’t expect it, either, but it hit me like a battering ram anyway.”
How does one react in these situations? Because I’ve had boyfriends who have been jealous over other guys before.
Hell, Toby was a prime example. But I’ve never had a boyfriend who admitted it so honestly, so devastatingly, before.
And I certainly haven’t felt the warmth I’m feeling blooming low in my chest at his confession.
Not because he was jealous, but because he actually told me what was on his mind.
Rayne doesn’t tell me things easily, despite my very best efforts to lure some facts or stories out of him.
I’ve tried my best, and it’s like trying to siphon blood out of a very stubborn stone, so I’ve pretty much made peace with accepting him as he is and loving him for all his mystery and quirks.
Everything about him feels carefully held back, locked behind a door he keeps checking over his shoulder to make sure it’s still shut, and I’ve simply decided to help guard that door for him.
If he doesn’t want to share his past with me, then I’m not going to pry. I’m hoping that, with time, he’ll finally feel comfortable and secure enough to share. If he knows I’m not going anywhere, that I’m here for the long haul, then maybe that might help him open up a little.
“I know you weren’t doing anything wrong, so it’s not like I was angry at you. It’s work, and I can separate the two. Those guys meant nothing, and I get that,” he says quietly, and I nod in full agreement.
However, I already know there’s more, so I pause before gently prompting, “But?”
His gaze drags slowly over me, my still-sweaty skin, bare legs, messy hair. The cropped shirt that still clings tightly to my body from the heat. And then he’s back to my face, and the intensity in his eyes makes me shiver in the best way possible.
“But I walked in and saw one of them touch you,” he admits, his voice lower now, slightly rougher than before, “and it made me want to drag you out of there. Took everything in me to keep my hands to myself and remind myself that you’re a professional.”
I’ll be damned to the ninth circle of hell if that doesn’t do something catastrophic to me.
Shifting closer to him, I give in to my need to touch him. I sling my legs over his lap and lean into his side, his hand settling on my waist like it was instinct to place it there. I sigh before murmuring, “You know what’s funny?”
“What?” he asks lowly.
“I think that’s the most honest thing you’ve ever told me,” I comment, almost lightly, but the gravity is there in my words. This is a big deal, that he’s sharing things with me, even if they’re silly things he doesn’t need to worry about.
I’m soaking it in regardless, committing it to memory. I’m screenshotting the image of his expression as it flickers, almost like a flash of guilt washes over his face quickly. Or maybe fear? I can’t quite tell, but it’s printed in my memory anyway.
“Probably,” he eventually agrees, and I can’t help but study his face for a second.
This gorgeous and guarded man, who looks at me like he wants me more than anything in this world but doesn’t entirely believe he’s allowed to have me, is sitting there looking scared or guilty, and I’m pretty sure I fall that little bit harder for him.
Reaching toward him slowly, brushing dark hair from his forehead, I whisper, “You know, you don’t scare me, Rayne Cloud.”
He freezes instantly. “You don’t know me well enough to say that, mayhem.”
“Then tell me,” I say with a small shrug.
The words leave me gently, without an ounce of pressure that would force him into sharing, but I can see on his face how much of an impact they have.
Something vulnerable flashes over his face so quickly I almost miss it, only my perceptive gaze catching it before it’s gone as fast as it appeared.
His blue gaze flickers between mine for a beat before he finally admits, “I want to, Mads. I just…”
He shakes his head, and I lean deeper into him, letting him feel my weight and heat.
I make sure he knows I’m right here, that I’m not going anywhere, and his hand tightens on my waist as he shuts his eyes for a long moment.
Almost like he’s composing himself, gathering strength, before he finally says, “I’m not really good at letting people keep me after I tell them everything.
The only people who stayed are Caiden, Baxter, and Ryan. ”