Chapter 15
GRACE
The look on Micah’s face sent a jolt of heat straight through me.
His eyes darkened, pupils dilating as his gaze dropped to my lips for just a fraction of a second.
The professional mask slipped, and underneath I saw something raw.
Hungry. Like he wanted to devour me right there in front of the entire crew.
My breath caught in my throat.
For one electric moment, neither of us moved. The air between us felt charged, dangerous, like standing too close to a lightning strike. I could feel my pulse hammering in my neck and the flush creeping up my cheeks.
Then he blinked, and the mask snapped back into place. “We won’t need another angle,” he said. “That shot will be just fine.”
I tilted my head, studying him. “That’s a shame.”
Something flickered in his eyes again. Want, frustration, maybe both. Or maybe that was wishful thinking.
He turned away and called out to the crew. “Let’s reset for the next sequence!”
I watched him walk back to the monitors.
A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.
He wanted me. I could see it in the way he held himself, like a man fighting against his own instincts.
The way his jaw clenched whenever I got too close.
His eyes kept finding mine across the set, even when he was supposed to be focused on something else entirely.
But he wasn’t going to act on it. Not while I worked for him. Not while there was a power imbalance between us. And somehow, that restraint made me want him even more.
Some guys would have pounced at the first opportunity.
I’d met plenty of them in this industry, men who saw an actress as a conquest. They confused professional proximity with personal invitation.
They were the ones who got too handsy or suggested running lines in their hotel room.
The assholes that made you feel like your career depended on how well you played along.
Micah wasn’t like that. He’d had every opportunity to take advantage of our situation and he hadn’t. He’d been nothing but professional, even when I could feel the tension crackling between us like static electricity.
It made me respect him. Trust him. Want him in ways that were becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.
We shot two more scenes before Micah called it a day. The crew started the long process of breaking down equipment and securing the set for tomorrow. I lingered near the monitors, watching Micah review the dailies, waiting for a chance to say goodbye.
He looked up as I approached, and there it was again. That flash of something more before he schooled his features.
“Great work today,” he said. “Really great work.”
“Thanks to you.” I meant it. Without his patience and his creative solution to the Jack problem, I’d probably be in my apartment on my second bottle of wine with my career in shambles. “I couldn’t have done it without your help.”
“You did the hard part.”
We stood there for a moment, neither of us moving. I wanted to say something more, but what? There was nothing to say. Toby appeared at Micah’s elbow with a panicked expression.
“Micah, we’ve got a problem with the underwater rig for tomorrow’s sequence. The technician says the pressure gauge is showing irregular readings.”
“I’ll be right there.” Micah’s attention shifted immediately to the crisis at hand. He gave me an apologetic look. “Sorry. There’s always something.”
“Go.” I waved him off. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He hesitated for just a second, like he wanted to say something else but thought better of it. I watched him go, checking out his butt and not feeling even a little guilty about it.
Patty appeared at my side with my bag and a warm smile. “Car’s waiting for you out front, Ms. Stone. Driver’s name is John. He’ll get you home safe.”
Right. The driver. Part of the insurance requirements for lead actors—no driving yourself during production. Too much risk of an accident, too much liability. I’d protested at first, feeling like it was overkill, but after a fourteen-hour day on my feet, I was grateful for it.
John was a quiet man in his sixties who didn’t seem interested in small talk. He navigated the LA traffic like someone who’d been doing this for decades while I sat in the back seat and let my mind wander. The day had been a roller coaster. The lowest of lows and then the highest of highs.
My apartment felt smaller than usual when I walked through the door. Or maybe I just felt bigger, like the experiences of the past few weeks had expanded me somehow. Was I getting a big head like Jack? God, no. I would stay humble. I never wanted to be like him.
I kicked off my shoes, changed into sweats, and poured myself a generous glass of wine. What a whirlwind the last couple of weeks had been.
Three weeks ago, I’d been a nobody. Now I was the lead in a Jack Montana movie.
I had a trailer with my name on it. A driver who ferried me to and from set like I was actually important.
And what I decided was the hottest director in the business.
He could easily be a leading man. Maybe he’d missed his calling.
I took a long sip of wine and let the warmth spread through me. He saw something in me that I couldn’t always see in myself. He’d worked with me instead of firing my ass. He’d found a solution instead of giving up on me.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face.
The intensity of his gaze when he watched me perform.
The way his lips curved into that gorgeous smile when I nailed a take.
The heat in his eyes today when I’d suggested he stand in for Jack during the kiss.
There wouldn’t have been much acting on my part if I had to kiss Micah.
Had to. As if it wouldn’t have been the highlight of my day.
I finished my wine and poured another glass, curling up on my couch with a throw blanket. The exhaustion of the day was catching up with me. Combined with the wine, my eyes slid closed.
I felt myself drifting off. I put my wine glass on the coffee table, telling myself I’d just take a few minutes before I dragged my ass to bed.
The dream came in fragments at first. Flickering images like an old film reel. I was Elena. Running through the corridors, heart pounding, breath coming in ragged gasps. The kidnappers were behind me. I could hear them calling out, their voices bouncing off the metal walls.
And then he was there. Not Jack. Micah.
He emerged from the shadows like a ghost, his dark hair disheveled, his blue eyes burning with determination. He grabbed my hand and pulled me into a hidden alcove, pressing me against the wall with his body shielding mine.
“Quiet,” he breathed against my ear. “They’re passing.”
I could feel the heat of him everywhere. His hard chest against mine, his thigh between my legs and his heavy breathing brushing across my neck.
The footsteps faded. We were safe.
He pulled back just enough to look at me, and the expression on his face made my stomach flip. Raw desire.
“Grace,” he said.
The raspy way he said my name practically melted me.
“Micah.”
And then he was kissing me. Desperate and all-consuming. The kind of kiss that curled your toes. His hands tangled in my hair. His tongue swept against mine. I arched into him, needing more, needing everything.
He lifted me easily, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carried me deeper into the ship. We tumbled onto something soft. His weight settled over me.
“I’ve wanted this,” he murmured against my throat, his lips trailing fire down my neck. “Since the moment you walked into that audition.”
“Then take it,” I gasped. “Take me.”
His hands found the hem of my shirt, pushing it up, his fingers tracing patterns on my bare skin that made me shiver. I pulled at his clothes, desperate to feel him, to close every last inch of distance between us.
He kissed me again, deeper this time, and I felt myself dissolving into sensation. The scratch of his stubble against my cheek. The strength of his arms caging me in. The hard press of his body against mine, evidence of exactly how much he wanted this too.
I moaned into his mouth.
I jerked awake on my couch, heart racing, skin flushed. I blinked, confused at first. I was on my couch. I woke myself up with my own moaning.
“Oh my God,” I muttered.
How embarrassing.
My body thrummed with unfulfilled desire, every nerve ending singing with the memory of a kiss that had only happened in my imagination. I craved his touch. I closed my eyes and tried to fall back into the dream.
But it was gone.
“Damn it,” I muttered and sat up.
My skin felt too tight. My pulse wouldn’t slow down.
I could still feel the ghost of his hands on me, still taste him on my lips.
This was getting out of control. I needed to focus.
I had a job to do. A career to build. I couldn’t afford to be distracted by fantasies about my director, no matter how vivid they were.
I dragged myself off the couch and headed for my bed.
I couldn’t help wondering if Micah was having the same problem.
Did he have dreams about me? Did he fantasize about his lips on mine?
Maybe. Maybe not. He was a very, very attractive man.
He probably had a stable full of women just waiting for him to send them a booty call text.
I wanted Micah Blackwell. Badly. But wanting him and having him were two very different things. One could get me the career I’d dreamed about. The other could destroy it.