Love Unrehearsed (27 page)

Ryan’s lips twisted. “You’re the only person who would see it that way.”

Somehow I highly doubted that. “The gossip magazines would have a field day, Ryan. You know it as well as I do. You don’t need that looming around your public persona. It will be bad enough when things are said about my small cameo.”

“Could be your debut.”

I rolled my eyes.

“What?” he sniggered, dropping his arm onto my paper pile. He picked up a few of the pages I was reading and glanced at them. I saw his eyes turn skeptically quizzical. “What’s all this?” He scrutinized the papers.

“Anna gave me some documents to look at; financials and stuff.”

He flipped through several of the sheets, becoming more and more intrigued as he panned through. “This is for
Slipknot
. Why the hell do you have . . .? Are you . . . are you supposed to have this stuff? This is the agreement with their production company, Light Reel Pictures.”

He toggled from gaping at the pages in hand to gaping at me, as if I’d committed a horrendous crime. “Production agreements, Light Reel’s contract . . . Holy shit, Taryn.”

I took some of the pages from his hand, trying to lessen the breach, knowing that even he wasn’t privy to some of the agreements made to get
Slipknot
filmed. “She gave them to me in confidence. We’ve been talking a lot and I had questions. I think she’s made a pet project out of me.”

“Don’t let anyone know you have these,” he advised, admonishing my risky behavior.

I snatched the last few pages from his hand, incensed that he’d think I was that careless. I made a nice, neat pile, forgoing the last page I studied for the betterment of recouping the evidence. “I know. Don’t you tell anyone I have them, either.”

His head tilted. “Why do you have all of that?”

I looked over at him. “Someone’s got to run our production company.”

Hoping to sidetrack his reproach, I pulled from the bottom of my pile the log home architectural design book he had asked me to get. “Here. I got this for you. Build me a house, oh Captain, my Captain.”

Shiny object diversion
. “Oh cool.” He flopped over onto his belly, thumbing through it. “Did you see any designs you like?”

I shook my head. “I like them all.”

A faint noise caught my attention. “Is Mike downstairs?”

“No.”

His voice was tinged with a hint of sadness, as if he missed his friend.

“Ryan, I really don’t mind if he hangs out here with us. He’s not just your head of security anymore. Why don’t you call him and tell him to come over. I’ll make some of those quesadillas you guys love so much.”

Ryan stalled, appearing apprehensive. “He’s ah . . . got other plans tonight.”

“What’s he up to?”

Ryan ignored me to go take a shower. I had almost fallen asleep when I felt Ryan shift off the bed and then something pointy tickle my butt cheek. “What are you doing?”

“Never mind,” he instructed, palming my thigh in his hand. “Just go back to doing what you were doing and don’t worry about it.”

I looked over my shoulder. “That’s a freaking permanent marker, Ryan!”

“It will wash off . . . eventually. Hold still.”

“Honey, please don’t draw on my ass.”

“Shush.” He pushed the edge of my underwear out of his way. “This is
my
ass. Mine. Property of,” he said matter-of-factly.

I groaned as he palmed my rear, his rogue finger brushing oh so cleverly between the juncture of my thighs, twitching, tickling. He knew exactly what he was doing to me.

“So,” I breathed out, very aware of my bottom, “does that mean I own your ass, too?”

“Damn straight,” he murmured. “Own. Rule. My body is yours. Feeling in the mood to play with it? I’ll let you.”

I felt the excitement that his words stirred in me. “Let me? I didn’t know I needed permission to play with my toys. I thought that was the benefit of being an only child. Never having to share.”

Ryan frowned, returning to his drawing. “Nick used to enjoy breaking my toys. Whenever he was pissed at me he’d snap my shit into pieces.”

The thought of Nick being nasty to Ryan saddened me. I frowned, wishing I could take away those bad memories.

He was so engrossed, I peered over my shoulder. “Are you having fun? Did I get an official
Ryan Christensen
autograph?”

Ryan chuckled. “What are your feelings about getting matching tattoos?”

Several thoughts flashed at once, starting with “pain” and “needles” and then quickly followed by the question of whether he was seriously considering permanently inking my right ass cheek with his name.

The next thoughts flooded in like a film in fast-forward—all swirling around the several tattoos that adorned Thomas’s luscious body; the tribal art that wrapped around Thomas’s chiseled left hip like a beacon to Wonderland.

I had to clear my throat. “I’ve considered a tattoo once. Never went through with it, though. Why? Are you thinking of other ways to mark your
property
?”

He shrugged, downplaying it, but I could tell that he was seriously considering it. “Just thought it might be cool. I’ve been thinking about getting one for a long time. Thought maybe we’d have the same symbol or something.”

I tried to see what he was drawing, but it only looked like a box with scribbling next to it.

“What is that?”

“I’m making an airport. This is the terminal and this here is the landing strip. Stop moving! My jumbo jet needs to land.”

I quickly rolled over onto my side.

“Hey! Oh, what—you don’t care if hundreds of passengers plummet to their death in the ocean? You’re so mean.” His once-determined face now looked completely dejected. He was such a good actor.

I smiled at him, snatched the black marker from his hand, and climbed onto him. “Why? Is your jet packed with navy seamen? Let me draw on
your
ass. I want to carve my initials on
my
property.”

Even though he had been up since five thirty this morning, he moved with lightning-quick speed to undo his towel and roll onto his belly, so willing to let me draw on his body.

“Property . . . of . . . Taryn . . . Mitchell.” I wrote in script letters on his tight, bare bottom. I drew a little heart at the end to finish it off.

Ryan glanced over his shoulder. “You done?”

“Yep.”

He grabbed the marker out of my hand and tossed it in the general direction of the nightstand.

“Come here,” he said, slipping a hand behind my head to pull me down to his mouth. He tasted deliciously minty. The fragrances of his body wash and shampoo wove me into a familiar cocoon of favorite scents. Gently, he rolled me over onto my back. His fingers wove and tensed into my hair, holding my head in his hand, silently telling me he’d never let me go.

For me, kissing Ryan Christensen was like drinking instant passion. Arousal tore through my body, awakening the hunger for his touch that always lies just below my surface.

He kissed my cheek, that tender spot under my jaw, down to the nape of my neck. His hand slipped over my stomach, brushing fingertips over my ribs, working my camisole top up higher to expose my skin. His lips skated over the lace, finding my raised nipple with a gentle bite of his teeth.

My top was unceremoniously tossed to the floor. I threaded my fingers into his damp hair as he tongued and sucked my breast. His hand slid under my panties; he groaned once when he realized I had shaved myself bare and then a second time, louder, when he felt how slick I was for him. “Fuck, baby,” he breathed out softly, reverently, slipping his tongue back into my mouth.

Slowly he climbed on top of me, using his knees to nudge my thighs farther apart. Kneeling up, he reached for my panties, taking them down painstakingly slow, as if he were savoring the view.

I raised my legs, feeling the silk pass over my ankles. Ryan took my calf in hand, placing my leg back to where it rested on the other side of his leg.

“Let me see.” He whispered his request, and I parted my legs for him. He sucked in a sharp breath. I could see the heat rising in his cheeks, tinting him with a glorious flush.

His fingers drifted over my bare flesh. “God, you’re beautiful,” he breathed out. I felt my own breath hitch as he gazed at me with such raw and unfettered adoration.

I ran my hand down his muscular chest, over the ripples of his defined abs, mesmerized by his amazing body as he worshipped mine.

“I love you,” I said, holding his gaze. His head swayed and he lowered himself onto his forearms to kiss me.

“I love you more,” he vowed into my mouth.

Ryan kissed his way down my body, licking the smooth skin of my stomach just below my belly button, pressing my thighs wide open. I gazed down at his blue eyes, so eager to watch my reaction. I watched his eyes close as he drifted into the fierce direction of pleasuring me. His free hand pressed up over my ribs, then pinched and pulled my nipple.

“Oh, oh God . . .”
I think I just said that out loud
.
Didn’t take him long to send me flying over the edge.
He wiped his chin off on the back of his hand and crawled like a hungry animal up the bed.

Before I knew it I was on top of him, feeling my body adjust around each glorious inch as I slipped down to fully take him in.

“Oh, Tar,” he moaned, pulling me tight to his chest, his forearm and hand holding my body to his while his other hand guided my rear. Our kisses turned to open-mouth pants, nose brushing nose, lips resting on lips for leverage. His long fingers threaded into my hair. “You feel so good,” he breathed, gazing directly into my eyes, before locking his mouth back on mine.

Ryan’s arm wrapped under my right thigh, spreading me wider across his body. His hips thrust into me so fast it took my breath away. My wetness spurred him on even more.

“Ah yeah, that’s it. Mmm,” he purred, and rocked me harder. His strong hands cupped around my ass and he began thrusting with renewed vigor. I was starting to see stars and not just of the celebrity kind.

With a quick roll and swoop, he landed me on my back, slinking down my body so his tongue could slip fervently back and forth once again. Gently, but with deliberate effort, he bit into my flesh, a little nibble here, a little there, into the interior of my thigh, adding pain that only heightened my pleasure. His fingers curled inside me, overloading me with powerful sensations while he flicked his wicked tongue.

I gasped when he entered me again. He wove his left hand into mine, pausing to kiss my knuckles. “Only yours,” he uttered on my lips, then raised my arm above my head, sinking himself deeper with each twist. I felt the incredible happiness from his tender gesture fill my heart and I surrendered myself completely to his will.

He rolled me on the bed like a hungry croc wearing down its prey, flipping me over and pleasuring me in ways that should be illegal.

I could feel it coming, that warm rush of orgasmic bliss. He was so deep; his fingers strummed my flesh perfectly. I couldn’t hold on any longer; my body ached for a release. I paused several times to breathe, scrunching my eyes from the sensations coursing through me. I crashed my face into the bedsheets and let the all-consuming orgasm have me.

After we cleaned up, we nestled together back in bed. Ryan’s chest pressed to my back, his strong, warm embrace holding me. I ran my fingertips over the tendons in his hand, the fine hair on his forearm, dreading the moment when I’d be forced to sleep without him. I kissed his arm, appreciating this moment, thankful that we have this togetherness, right here, right now. I felt the steadiness of his warm breath on my shoulder, as I lay there listening to the sounds of him falling asleep.

Discussing when I’d go back home would have to wait another day.

It felt nice to sleep in since Ryan’s day wouldn’t start until almost 10
A.M.
While we enjoyed a leisurely morning, I packed my copies of the production agreements and shooting schedules into my newly acquired messenger bag. All of my necessities to keep very occupied were carefully stowed inside.

Ryan’s set assistant, Paula, was full of energy and very eager to please when we arrived, fetching coffee for both of us. Apparently Mike got special treatment; she had a chocolate-covered éclair stashed just for him. Even Ryan didn’t get an éclair.

I reviewed the shooting schedule, noting Ryan’s times and the scenes planned for the day, then decided to listen to the messages on the pub’s line.

Hearing Thomas say my name, twice, was unnerving, as if some cruel joke were being played on my memory, twisting my hatred into longing. Both times he requested I call him, not wanting to tell me the true reason for his calls, only saying it was urgent. The second message had more information. Though still vague, it contained the one word that would get me to call him back—Melanie.

“The only thing he said was that Mel’s real sick,” I said to Marie. She was getting ready to open the pub and interview two people for bartender/waitress positions when I called. “He didn’t say with what. Just that there might not be enough time.”

“Shit. I’ll try calling her mom. I’m surprised she didn’t call me if she was back in town,” Marie said, sounding distracted.