13. Erika
ERIKA
Erika’s fingers fumbled with the blue contact lens, her third attempt this morning. The lens slipped and fell onto the marble countertop. “Damn it!”
The stranger in the mirror stared back. One blue eye, one brown. A sharp rap at the terrace door made her jump.
“Fifteen minutes to call time, sunshine!” Lily’s voice cut through the morning air.
Erika snatched up the lens and finally got it in place with a wince. Lily Martinez strode onto the terrace, all crisp white linen and clicking heels. The woman set down a tablet, fresh script pages, and—blessedly—a steaming cup of coffee beside a powdered donut.
“Contraband,” Lily said, sliding designer shades atop her head. “You look like death warmed over in Gucci.”
Erika seized the mug. “You’re a lifesaver.”
“Don’t get comfortable,” Lily said. “Anneliese wouldn’t. Remember—you are Anneliese.”
Erika sipped. “Right. I called Annie last night. She filled me in on the whole Glass Houses disaster. And the Temmy.”
Lily’s perfectly lined lips pursed. “Did she tell you the rest?”
“The rest?”
“Word around town is Stefan didn’t actually leak that Page Eight story—the Glass Houses one.
His agent did, without telling him. By the time Stefan found out, the damage was done.
” Lily shrugged one elegant shoulder. “Doesn’t excuse him for not fixing it, but the full picture’s murkier than your sister likes to admit. ”
Erika’s stomach twisted. That didn’t fit the villain Anneliese had painted. “Why wouldn’t she tell me that?”
“Because it’s easier to hate someone when they’re your mortal enemy, not human.” Lily nudged the new script pages forward. “Speaking of monsters—Martin’s already in a mood.”
Erika flipped through the new pages. “What the hell is this?”
“Martin’s . . . special revision.” Lily’s fingernail tapped the scene heading. “Where you were supposed to have a verbal sparring match with Stefan? Now you’re throwing each other off a cliff. Lunging, tumbling, grabbing—the works.”
“I can’t do this.” Erika looked up. “I can barely do a cartwheel.”
“Welcome to Martin Blackwell’s playground.” Lily’s smile was tight. “He did this on Midnight Run too. Turned a dinner scene into a knife fight the morning of. Sent the lead actress into a panic attack.”
“Great.”
“He’ll lurk at rehearsal, watching for weakness.” Lily leaned in, voice dropping. “When he does, stand taller. If your hands shake, hide them. If you stutter, turn it into a laugh. He’s like those T-rexes in that dinosaur movie—movement triggers the attack.”
Erika’s throat constricted as she nodded. “See you out there, chica,” Lily said as she headed for the door. The brightness was forced. She paused, glancing back. “And Erika? Chin up. He smells fear.”
Erika stepped onto the black platform at the edge of the beach. Salt spray misted her face as a wave crashed nearby.
Stefan was already there, his body pivoting with each kettlebell swing. Of course, he’s shirtless. Did he emerge from the womb flexing? When he spotted her, he set the weight down with a soft thud.
“Sunrise call time, and the princess actually showed up.” His gaze slid over her, slow. “Someone check the weather report for flying pigs.”
Erika stepped onto the mat. “I’ve been up since five. Some of us prepare for our scenes instead of just . . .” Her eyes flicked to his bare torso, then away. “Flexing.”
“This?” He rolled one shoulder, muscle rippling. “Just maintenance. Like your weekly collagen injections.”
“At least I maintain more than just my body.” She caught herself, channeling Anneliese. “When’s the last time you read something without pictures?”
He stepped closer, close enough that she could smell water and salt on his skin. “I read scripts. I read people.” His voice dropped. “I read you.”
A sharp clap cut through the air. Jax, the stunt coordinator, stood at the edge of the mat, expression as animated as concrete.
“If you two are done with whatever this is,” he said, gesturing between them, “we have a fight sequence to block. Unless you’d prefer to keep verbally fondling each other all morning. ”
Erika’s cheeks burned as Jax circled them on the practice mat.
“Right hook,” he demonstrated with a quick jab that stopped inches from Stefan’s jaw. “Block. Grab. Twist. Bear hug from behind. Then—” he dropped his center of gravity suddenly “—weight shift and flip. Questions?”
Erika gave a short, tight shake of her head, aware of how close Stefan stood, his chest rising and falling in an irritatingly steady rhythm.
The first attempt, her knuckles brushed his stubbled jaw when he blocked too late. The second, his fingers circled her wrist, lingering a half-second too long. She catalogued the calluses on his palm—not actor-soft, rougher than expected.
“Again,” Jax barked.
By the third run, her brain had abandoned all choreography. All she registered was the press of his chest against her back, the band of muscle tightening around her waist, his palm hot against her skin. Focus, damn it. This is a fight scene, not a romance novel.
On the fourth run, Jax exhaled like a man who’d spent decades watching beautiful people pretend to hit each other. “Adorable. Really. Now do it like you’re not auditioning for a perfume commercial. At speed.”
The air changed. Stefan lunged—no hesitation—his fingers digging into her wrist just shy of bruising. The sudden sting punched the breath out of her. His pupils blew wide.
“Too slow,” he murmured.
She twisted under his arm, using her whole body weight, feeling the burn across her shoulder. “Too predictable,” she hissed, ripping her arm free with enough force that his fingertips left white marks that bloomed pink.
He recovered instantly, spinning behind her. His arms locked around her rib cage, crushing the air from her lungs. Her back collided with his chest. “Got you,” he whispered. “Nowhere to run.”
“That’s what you think,” she grunted as she coiled her muscles for the counter-move. She dropped her weight, twisted—and felt her foot slip on the mat. For one lurching second, they both teetered. Stefan’s arms tightened, hauling her upright before they could fall.
“Careful, Princesa,” he breathed against her ear, steadying her. “Wouldn’t want to hurt that pretty face.”
Princesa. The word ignited a heat low in her belly, which made no sense. She was supposed to despise him. So why did her body keep forgetting?
She shoved out of his grip, breath ragged. “I had it.”
His smirk said otherwise.
Jax didn’t even blink. “Touching. Now do it without the trust fall.”
She wrenched free, but his fingers caught her wrist.
“Finally waking up?” He leaned closer.
“Just matching your ego,” she shot back, pushing him away.
He slipped behind her, pinning her against him. “Easy.” His voice was a vibration she felt more than heard. “Your claws are showing.”
“Once more,” Jax said, tapping his watch. “And this time, convince me you actually want to kill each other.”
She ducked under his arm, dropping her center of gravity like a stone. Too fast. Too sharp. His foot slid across the mat.
“Shit—” he growled.
They were falling. For real this time.
“Stefan!” The name tore from her throat before she could stop it.
They crashed onto the mat, the impact rattling her teeth. Stefan’s full weight pinned her, his chest crushing against hers with each ragged breath. The world condensed to pressure points: his hipbones against her stomach, his forearms caging her shoulders, their noses nearly touching.
Then she felt it.
As they lay there, breathless, her hips pressed against his, everything narrowed to a single point of contact—hard, unmistakable—against her inner thigh. Her lungs seized. Blood rushed to her face, dizzying.
Stefan’s eyes darkened as he watched understanding dawn across her features. That infuriating smirk spread slowly across his lips. He didn’t move away. Instead, he lowered his head until his mouth brushed the shell of her ear.
“If you wanted me on top of you,” he whispered, his breath hot against her ear, “you just had to ask. Though I have to say . . . you’re full of surprises, Morgan.”
The words landed strangely. Her gaze dropped to his mouth before she could stop it.
His breath fanned across her lips. Neither of them moved. Neither of them pulled away. The moment stretched, taut as a wire about to snap. What the hell almost just happened?