Entangled (A Tryst Novel) (4 page)

He rolls his eyes. “I won’t even attempt that argument.”

An idea sparks anew, instigated by his mocking surrender, and I let the corner of my mouth curve upward as I lean in closer to lay my lips upon his again. Blake wastes no time letting his mouth command mine, coaxing them open, and I know we’re on the verge of making a scene, but he tastes divine.

I pull away to catch my breath and notice we have matching grins. I know where I’d like to go, and it isn’t in public, but rather enjoying his company in a far more private setting. Somewhere we can giggle and be idiots together, where I get to let his fingertips gingerly explore the surfaces of my body, all the while being ourselves away from prying eyes.

I grab for his hand and make swift strides to our table. I grab my purse, and Blake manages to snag his jacket as we move without stopping. He slaps a twenty onto the table before we make our way out the door. Blake follows without a peep, but the lifted corner of his mouth tells me he’s curious.

When we hit the curb, the crisp night air stings my flushed skin. I swivel around on my heels while taking a sharp intake of the cool air. Surprising me, the gust down my throat seems to only fan the fire growing low in my abdomen as I watch Blake make effortlessly confident strides to stand next to me with his hand tightly clasping mine.

I chew my lip, feeling the liquid courage evaporating quickly from my veins, but I move forward as I tug him toward me. “I think it’s about time for that cab.”

“Oh, really?” His grin is back in full Technicolor, as if he’s proud of my bold intent. I close my eyes and kiss him, hoping it’s answer enough to cover up my rising nerves that I don’t understand.
There’s no reason to be nervous.

His tongue stealthily dips into my mouth, tasting warm and sweet, as if tempting my soul.

I pull away as I drag my tongue over his bottom lip, my breath soft and shallow. I’m tempted to keep my eyes closed just to be able to savor him a fraction of a second longer, but I refrain. I try for sexy when peering up at his electric-green eyes, and though it feels off, I continue on anyway. I want to be what he so badly deserves, and I take one deep breath before giving it a try. “I can’t wait to learn more about your job, but I think you’ll find mine far more interesting . . . How far is the hotel?”

Blake’s brows knit together in intrigued confusion, and I worry his sly smirk is to hold himself back from laughing at me. I could cringe if that’s true. I hold my breath this time in anxious anticipation of my haphazard punch line.

He watches me carefully, as if observing a cornered animal, possibly a sexually frustrated one.

“Fifteen minutes, maybe. Why? What do you mean?”

I chew my lip, exhilarated by the games we play, but still terrified at this novice attempt, but I like how Blake is still willing to play along, even if it’s more for his own amusement.

“My job . . . or my future job. Ya know . . . we could play doctor?”

When the words leave my lips, I desperately wish for the earth to swallow me whole right beneath my feet. I want to be sexy. Dammit, I do, but the statement comes out like the words of a prepubescent teen, even though my raspy voice may reveal the unfurling desire occurring in my core. My sexiness rating feels like it’s plummeting, no longer driven by the wine or tequila, but instead by my own inexperience. I don’t even know if I should be proud of trying.

His eyes bore into mine, and the corner of his mouth twitches.

A sheepish smile squeezes through my reflexive pout at the realization that he might be on the verge of laughing at me, and I want to pretend I didn’t attempt the whole doctor line.

I try to save myself from my lack of seduction skills before he can make fun of me outright. I can’t tell what Blake might see in the awkward girl who needs booze in order to seduce.
 
That being me.

With him visibly analyzing me, probably crafting a joke, I lick my lips, changing tack before he can speak. “I’m so glad you finally quit that nasty habit of smoking.”

Shocking me, Blake’s right arm wraps tightly around my waist, pulling me flush against him in such a way that I can feel all of his tall, lean body against mine, and I lose my breath. The movement forces my head to tilt back to get a better look at his handsome face, while his other hand lifts toward the sky to hail a cab.

His wolfish grin appears with his face inches from mine, and it becomes obvious that my encounter with embarrassment only moments ago was entirely ridiculous.

His breath is humid against my mouth as he speaks, sending delightful tremors through my body as he says, “You’re my nasty habit now.”

He presses his lips against mine in time with a yellow cab coming to stop at the curb.

“And yes, we can definitely go play doctor,” he adds with a gloating smirk before letting me go.

Will he always be better at this than me?

Skyler

Blake chose to drive my car to his photo shoot. I’m in a blissful state in the passenger seat, dangling my hand outside the window, enjoying the midday sunshine. I feel happy, and wonderfully sore.

As if on cue, my left hand is grabbed and then entwined around Blake’s as he drives. He brings my hand to his lips, kissing my fingers.

“Aren’t you charming?” I say, still absorbing the sunshine from the open window.

He nibbles at my fingers as a rebuttal to my remark. “I just know I’d rather go back to our hotel room.”

“Not home?” I ask, finding that a part of me misses Blake’s bed more than my own. His sheets smell of him, and when they’re matched with his embrace on a chilly fall evening, it’s the most perfect place amid the chaos of exams, assignments and—

“—you mean home to where you brother lurks?”

I smirk, finally turning to look at him. “He’s busy with Vanessa now, maybe it won’t be like that all the time.”

He sighs. “I hope so.”

I know that changing the subject is best. Lately the topic of my brother has been weighing heavy on him, and I wonder if having Josh as his agent now makes for more trouble than it’s worth.

“So, what am I to expect at this
 
photo shoot?” I ask.

He raises a brow at my tone. “You think this is all child’s play, huh?”

“You’re pretty, and they take pictures of you. Of course it is.”

He grins wolfishly. “Sometimes being pretty pays the bills.” His reflexive, comical pout has my insides turning to goo.

I roll my eyes. “What am I supposed to do with myself when I get there? I’m worried I’ll get in the way.”

“It’ll be fine.” He squeezes my hand reassuringly. “There are lots of people lurking around shoots. You’ll blend right in. No one will care. I already told Gio I’d be bringing you.”

“So, this is the last shoot you have before . . .” I can’t even get the words out; my body refuses the topic.

“. . . Skyler, I’ll be in New York for one week for a promotional run, but I’ll be in LA most of the time for filming.”

He explained this all to me this morning. He has been slowly trickling information to me. Before, he said he wasn’t going anywhere for a while, then all of a sudden he’s leaving for a week in New York City. What’s next? Filming there too?

I take in a deep breath, knowing it’s vital for me to take this one step at a time.

“I’m fine. Like I told you before, maybe it’s all a good thing. I have midterms anyway.” This is in fact true. It might give me some time to focus on school. I turn my whole body toward his while he drives, leaning over the center console to place a kiss on his cheek. “I want to see you work. I can’t wait to see what a movie set looks like, too.”

His singular dimple reveals itself with his trademark smirk, and I know he’s delighted by my words. Which makes me so happy.

I brush a rogue piece of dark hair away from his forehead, finding that being in a relationship with Blake has come to me like riding a bike. I feel like I’ve known Blake far longer than mere months.

I study his face a moment, wondering what “supermodel Blake” doesn’t have that “movie star Blake” might. He’s more dynamic than the two-dimensional glossy photos that have been taken of him, and I’m excited to see how his undeniable charisma will break through a platform like acting. I think back on this morning as we flipped through the pages of his script, still naked, tangled in the white sheets in the hotel room at the Four Seasons, running through lines. I found the whole thing wonderfully surreal, and wondered when my life took such a strange turn.

The film has everything Hollywood wants out of a movie. I had to explain to Blake that the screenplay originated from a book, and he was giddy to find that out, which I found adorably hilarious. I’ve secretly planned to buy him the book to hide in his suitcase when he leaves to help him with research. The story line offers everything from action, to suspense, to dynamic themes . . . and even an epic romance.

My gut plummets at the thought. This has not been a topic Blake and I have touched, but it is in fact the elephant in the room. For now, we take the less-than-fun parts of our relationship one step at a time. Some might call it “avoiding,” but I like to call it “strategic placement of frustrations.”

“I love you,” Blake says, and I let a smile spread across my face.

“I love you, too.”

I don’t know what I expected, but I don’t think it’s the modern, blocklike structure we stop at. When we park in front of the daunting rectangular building my insides coil tight with nerves, since I have no idea what I’m walking into. The mostly cement building teeters on intimidating, but my eyes are drawn to the second floor, where there are large expansive windows, noting that the first floor has barely any.

“Is this an apartment?” I ask as we exit the car. My steps are slow as I approach the looming home that looks like it’d be the perfect place to survive a zombie apocalypse nestled among the elite suburbs of Los Angeles.

“Uh, no. It’s Gio’s house. It’s his studio, but he also lives here. I mean, normally we go on location for stuff, but this is more of a low-key, contemporary sort of ad, I think. A lot of black-and-whites.”

I shrug, unsure what those details might mean to me. I look around the neighborhood, noticing the bustling, swanky restaurants and bars are only blocks away.

“Oh.”

Blake walks right through the front door without knocking, and I’m stunned by the eruption of sound from within. It sounds like a party. I link my arm with Blake’s tightly, bringing him close, feeling like a lost girl, tempted to hide behind him.

Stepping into his world feels like it gives him such an unfair advantage. Him joining me on the UCLA campus is nothing in comparison to walking into
 
this
.

When we enter the large space I’m floored by the fact that what I thought was two separate floors from the outside is actually only one giant studio room. In the back there is a large white sheet covering a portion of the wall, surrounded by all sorts of light fixtures lying in wait, and it gives me the ability to put the pieces of the scene together.

There are at least twenty people inside. Some of whom are running around manic, whereas others are exchanging conversation, but as I listen more closely I notice that some are speaking in English, and others in a jibber-jabber of something foreign. Most people actually seem to be arguing, while others drink from cans of Red Bull, laughing at what their faces tell me is
 
just another day in the neighborhood
.

“
Non mi importa un cavolo!
—get Marielle Acosta here NOW!”

The deep voice booms over the crowd, and of the bits of foreign language I know I’m able to grasp that it’s Italian, and that it’s profanity. My eyes, seeking some sense of purpose, search for the voice, but soon Blake is slithering out of my grasp.
 No!

“Babe, I gotta go. Will you be all right here?”

Of course not.

I look around and hate that people are staring, and fear looking like a needy girlfriend, so I force a smile. “Sure. Of course. Go work. I’ll be fine.”

My smile shifts into a grimace when his back is to me. His strides tell me he knows exactly what he’s doing. I look around, realizing I have no idea what
 
I’m
doing, and I forget about the booming voice and try to find a corner to hide in.

“
Quella ragazza
, who is she?”

My ears perk up, but I know they can’t be talking about
 
me, or if they are, it can’t be good.

My feet nervously move forward. To where? I don’t know. I hear more words I worry I’m the reason for.

“Get her. I must have her.”

For some reason my legs pick up speed, and I want to run. Then everything happens so fast when I feel a sharp yank.

The vise grip of a hand on my arm has pointy acrylic nails that shine bright yellow as I swing my gaze to meet onyx eyes. She doesn’t look too pleased, but unfortunately she is undoubtedly pretty; her bleached-blond hair is tied in a high bun on top of her high-cheekboned head.

“Who are you?” she screeches through bright red lips.

Her rolling
r
catches my attention, but I feel like a child caught in a lie. “I’m sorry. I’m here with my boyfriend, Blake. I’m just here to watch him work.”
 
Please don’t scratch my eyes out.

“Blake?” she questions, eyeing my white tank top and torn-up jeans. She turns to her right, where a man I didn’t notice before stands waiting on the sidelines, and she tuts as she stares. “I thought Blake was back with Marguerite?” she asks.

My face twists into anger at hearing the name of his ex-girlfriend, and I cannot fight back the feeling of nausea that seeps into my gut.

The man lets out more of a cackle than a laugh. “You never can trust the gossip you hear, Sophie! What are you doing to that poor girl?”

Still with a tight grip she practically cringes as she speaks. “Gio wants her.”

“Her?” the man squeals, revealing his flamboyant tendencies. “As a replacement? Is he nuts?”

She shrugs, and I’m starting to get annoyed that they seemed to have forgotten my existence. She answers him. “He says she is what he wants. Her eyes. Look at her eyes.”

I feel like a science project, or an alien found in the deserts of New Mexico, as the man leans in, eyeing me like a new species of human.

I come in peace . . .

“He’s right,” he quips. “
Ipnotizzante.
”

I know that word! Mesmerizing. It means mesmerizing.

She rolls her eyes and finally looks back at me. “Come with me. We have to get you ready.”

“Ready for wh—”

As she cuts me off, I’m whisked away. The hard yank of both of my arms turns my attempt at words into a gasp. I want to jump from one complaint to the next when it suddenly feels like tens of hands are groping my body as they push me around the corner behind a curtain.

How is this escalating so quickly? All I wanted was a private, secluded corner to cower in.

“Hey!” I squawk, overwhelmed as I tilt my head to the left and right, realizing that in fact three other pairs of hands have joined in.

The woman with the bright yellow nails barks at me—“Would you keep still!”—and as if forgetting my existence again, she turns to the handsome gay man with the bright purple bow tie from before. “We don’t even know if she’ll fit.” Her lack of faith in the situation is obvious in her tone.

He snaps back as he grabs for the hem of my shirt, touching my waist before pulling it over my head. “She has slender hips like Marielle, but it’s those thighs I worry about. Too much meat. Is this Gio’s idea of a joke?”

I snort, yanking my arm free from the woman’s grasp. “Stop this! Where’s Blake? I don’t want to do this, and I DO NOT have big thighs—”

My jaw being brusquely grabbed cuts off my words. It’s a commanding grasp, but there is an element of tenderness to it, too, in the delicate placement of the fingertips against my cheekbones that has my eyes going wide and my mouth shutting.

The electric hazel gaze I make contact with has me instantly petrified. The roundness and crinkles around his eyes offer a likable, almost childlike sensibility, but the gold flecks in his irises wield a stern sense of logic, not to mention that his overall beauty throws me. His thick, midnight-black hair is slicked back over his head, but with a delicate curling of hair flopping over his forehead, giving him a hip look that matches his perfectly manicured scruff. His stare, combined with his firm grip, exude authority, and I notice the silence of my new entourage. I assume he must be important.

“What is your name,
 
cara mia
?”

I wrinkle my nose at hearing his accent, and the Italian endearment. I had to take two years of Italian while at UCLA. My stomach does a somersault at its calm, deep tone, and I’m inclined to answer.

“Skyler Silva.”

“Molto bella!”
His hand leaves my face, leaving a lukewarm impression. He points to the ceiling, in a charming way that a foreigner might do, but there’s something entrancing about his intensity. “Sky, like your eyes. Blue, and crystal-clear.”

I chew my lip, nervous all of a sudden, and I realize that besides my bra, I’m naked from the waist up. I’ve been too distracted by all that has gone on, and I quickly cover my plain-Jane black bra. I wonder where Blake might be, thinking that shouting for him might be juvenile.

The man before me lets out a hearty laugh that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. He bites back his smile as he waves his other hand, which I now notice holds a camera with a large lens and even larger flash attached. It looks like a heavy piece of technology, but he waves it like it’s a feather. The maneuver commands all the hands to leave my body and the people to scatter. I reach for the button on my jeans, realizing it’s undone. I must have been mere moments away from being in just my skivvies.

“Pardon me for my rudeness. Sometimes I get ahead of myself,” he adds, as if that’s a good enough excuse for what’s happened, and I’m not sure if that was even an apology.

“Rudeness is right! I just came to watch my boyfriend work! Where are my clothes?”

I don’t necessarily find his behavior angering, but my voice comes out outraged. I can’t focus. I feel bombarded, thrown off guard, and erratic.
 
I need to get a grip.

I take in a quick breath, examining the stranger, noticing his strong, square jaw behind the thick stubble on his face. Jeez, I thought Blake was handsome, and he still is, but this man looks like “Artsy European Ken.” I note his fitted maroon dress shirt, which has a stylish minuscule print on the fabric. I want to roll my eyes. Pretty people make me uncomfortable.

Finally, getting ahold of myself, I see his eyes soften as he attempts to hide a smile. It’s charming how his eyes look so kind in his surprisingly young face, but there’s something knowing about his stare, too.

“Skyler,
per favore
—please, just one moment.”