Chapter 21 Ada #2
“And he’s attracted to her, sure. She’s a mysterious, powerful woman. Dangerous. Beautiful.” At last he meets her gaze. “But
he won’t let himself acknowledge that attraction. Not after the way she damaged him, because she could easily do so again.”
Ada nods slowly, then distracts herself with her reflection, checking her hair and makeup. This discussion will not eliminate
whatever this is between her and Vince, these reminders of their past that will continuously interfere unless they move beyond
them. How, she doesn’t know; they’ve tried everything.
Except . . . not everything.
“Shall we do it, then?”
One look at Vince indicates he knows exactly what she’s implying. The overwhelming strangeness of their positions must be as obvious to him as it is to her.
When he doesn’t react, heat rises to Ada’s cheeks. There goes her veneer of professionalism. Plenty of actors work with costars
they once dated, were married to, slept with, cheated with, and God knows what else. She doubts they make such requests of
one another. Because professionals never let their personal lives interfere.
Before she can revoke her suggestion and pray he forgets she ever made it, he nods. “If we have to do it eventually, we might
as well.”
Did he have to make kissing her sound like such a chore? Still, he’s proving her point; if they can ease this tension between
them, it will prevent her—both of them—from being distracted in the future. This will be best for the film.
As if preparing for a scene, Vince passes a hand through his thick chestnut locks, mussing them—which will be to the dismay
of the hair department—then beckons her with a crook of his finger.
Once she’s standing in front of him, her heart slams inexplicably against her chest. Their last kiss was after a romantic
dinner in downtown Los Angeles. Some nosy journalist snapped a picture of the moment, and the next day’s papers discussed
their relationship. Nothing about her upcoming projects, her aspirations, her career, only that she was with Hollywood’s favorite
leading man.
She wanted to be more than an accessory. So she ended things without explanation. And now here they are. No cameras, nothing
but themselves, their past, and a film relying on their performances.
“Shall I take the lead?” he asks. “A quick peck, something more like old times, or in between?”
“Surprise me.”
Vince nods, then he leans closer. She doesn’t reach for him, nor does he wrap his arms around her, so she keeps her arms pinned to her sides and lifts her chin to meet him.
He touches his lips to hers. Barely a brush, then he steps aside to clear her path to the door. Not bad—no kiss of his could ever be bad—just . . . brief. Chaste. Cautious. Nothing like the way he used to kiss her.
Her heart flutters, reconciling what she anticipated with what she experienced. She didn’t want him to kiss her like before, when the desire pulsing between them left every touch searching for the next. Still, a bit more
than this offering wouldn’t have been entirely unwelcome either.
It’s done, though. Future takes will be easier now, surely.
Ada gives a brisk nod. “Right, this has all been immensely helpful.” She steps past him toward the door. “Let’s get back to—”
Then she feels his grasp on her arm, pulling her around with such ease and speed. All at once his mouth is against hers, swallowing
her words, and she forgets everything she was going to say.
Well, there’s the man she remembers.
His lips rough, his arms strong and secure, his touch prompting her heartbeat to ache in her chest as she presses into him.
One deep, lingering kiss, then Vince pulls away, leaving both gasping before he smirks.
“You told me to surprise you.”
Ada looks from the spark in his eyes to the vibrant smear of her lipstick on his mouth, then his lips find hers again, desperate
and urgent as if theirs is a reunion rather than two doing what they must for the work. Only for the work. She knows that,
of course she does. As does he, certainly, even as he kisses her again and again, grips her body tighter against his, tangles
a hand through her hair. She offers him her neck, gasping when his lips meet her skin.
This is exactly what she wanted.
Except they have a job to do.
Her voice emerges in a rasp. “Vince . . . Vince, the scene . . .”
He freezes. They remain centimeters apart, breathing heavily, and for a moment Ada dares to believe he will kiss her once
more, just once more. Gently, she brushes a finger over his lips, wiping the bright mark of lipstick. Hair and makeup will
be cursing them when they return to set.
His is no longer the look of indifference she has come to expect. Something else is there, something raw and honest that she
has no time to decipher before he blinks and releases her.
Wordlessly she smooths her hair while he dons his jacket. And when they leave the dressing room, a small cluster of extras
dissolves into titters. She bites her tongue to keep from ordering them to mind their own business.
Yet as she follows Vince back to set, she doesn’t miss his straight-backed stride a few paces ahead of her, the way the hand
that was tangled in her hair briefly clenches and unclenches. The same way she looks ahead rather than at anyone they pass,
refrains from smoothing her hair again even as she still feels his fingers locked in it, bites her cheek against the lasting
tingle in her lips.
Her brilliant plan to make filming easier is going to make this next take impossible.