Step Wilde: A Stepbrother Romance (12 page)

"Uh, so we've got sex at sixty," I said, referring to the Hollywood slang that described the two-thirds point where the lovers usually banged each other, "As well as having the violent mob interruption? Does that mean guns in bed, then?"

Jennifer nodded. "Yeah, it would. Which would be ridiculous but also kind of sexy."

I scratched my head, suddenly feeling that Wilder's knee was digging into my thigh with a ferocity that assured me he wasn't doing it accidentally. I couldn't believe how much more muscular he was than when we'd been together all those years ago.

Well, I could sort of believe it. I'd seen his most popular movie four times in the theaters, sneaking into the back row of the on-campus movie theater at the studio that employed me at the time. It was his most popular movie for a reason: there were three different sex scenes in it with three different women.

The film was based off of the most popular modern romance novel of all time, where a billionaire ends up seducing three young college students into a BDSM-lite menage. The movie was so sexy it narrowly avoided the death sentence of an X rating.

They hadn't put makeup over his tattoos for that movie. I'd had enough dreams about him since my multiple viewings that it nearly qualified as pure porn for me. I'd referenced it along with our own sexy night so many times the two had overlapped in my brain, where the new, muscle-bound, tattoo-covered Roman "Nick" Wilder was fucking me on that stage.

"Olivia? The scene? You were saying?" Jennifer prompted me. I dropped my pen in my spaghetti sauce. I wondered how long I'd been ignoring her and felt myself blush intensely.

"Sorry about that," I replied. "I was just thinking; I don't really want a scenario where it just seems like Nick's character has to save the woman."

Jennifer tilted her head. "Sorry? Who is Nick?"

Oh, God.
I’d used his real name accidentally. I had no idea where that came from. I glanced up at Wilder, and he was smiling at me so broadly both of his dimples were like caverns.

He spoke for me. "Nick is my real name. The name I had back in college."

Jennifer looked at both of us, her eyebrows furrowed. "Oh. So you two...know each other?" she asked.

Wilder nodded. "Oh, yeah. Intimately," he said. Under the table his knee pressed into my thigh.

My eyes went wide, tingles going up my spine, and I pushed back with my thigh against his knee, hoping to smack it away. He was so muscular it barely moved a single inch. Instead, my own thigh went flying upward and smacked into the table, knocking over Jennifer's water glass and spilling it on her script.

"Shit!" I said. "I am so, so sorry. I was...moving my leg to get some circulation. Oh, God. Here.” I handed her my cloth napkin. Wilder stood up and grabbed a towel that was draped over the side of the railing, offering it to her.

"It's fine, it's fine," Jennifer said, fanning out the pages. The water droplets fell to the flagstone patio and shone there like diamonds in the Italian sun. She sat back down along with the rest of us. "Okay, yeah, I agree with that. Huh. So…what if it turned out that Margot is also a spy? And an assassin."

I leaned forward, interested for the first time in this complete turd of a story. "Now
that
would be interesting. It could also turn out that Margot has made him her mark this whole time. And they've banged, but it turns out that she's just using him. I like that. That's really, really good."

I chewed on the end of my pen, turning frantically through the script and making notes. "Oh, and I really hope you don't mind...I know the script supervisor normally doesn't do stuff like this."

Jennifer shrugged. "This is the first time I've ever been called to an actual set to rewrite a movie. I don't think they could get anyone else, honestly. It's my first script alone, too, and it's been a total bitch to work through. I appreciate the feedback and input. And it's not like it's my baby."

I realized Wilder was still silent. "I don't like that plot line," he said. "I just don't buy that he would be tricked like that by a woman. And it doesn't totally seem fair to him that she would use him and discard him like that."

I shrugged. "Men do it all the time in real life. Why can't a woman?"

"I’m not saying that women can’t do it," Wilder snapped at me viciously. "I'm just saying that this is fantasy. People want something more enjoyable that the nightmare of real life betrayal and rejection, I think."

I suddenly realized that Wilder was genuinely upset.

Jennifer was still eyes-deep in her script. "Yeah, but there has to be conflict and I don't want the damsel in distress if we don't have to have it. I mean, how many times have you seen a naked woman caught in bed and cowering from violence in the corner while wrapped in a bed sheet? I'm just sick of that trope, honestly."

I nodded. "I agree with Jennifer. But we can run it by Fox, see what he thinks."

Wilder stood up, gathering his empty plate. "Whatever you want, Liv," he said. "It's your show apparently." Then he walked away.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

WILDER

Of course Fox loved the change to the script. If I was being honest, I did too. It was better than the damsel shit, as Olivia had so aptly pointed out. I just didn't like the real life parallels. She was blocking me from her, and it was driving me up a wall.

I refused the car that the studio had provided at the end of the day, choosing instead to walk alone through the streets of Milan. Strangely, nobody bothered me. I actually had no idea how famous I was over here; but it certainly wasn't anything like back home in the States. I was enjoying the anonymity.

When I reached the street in front of the Four Seasons, I saw that Hailey's car had pulled up directly in front. The paparazzi were still camped out.

"Shit," I muttered, reaching into my pocket for my phone to call Harrison. Then I remembered that I'd sent him ahead in the car. And he had my phone in his pocket. I doubled back down an alleyway near the hotel, hoping no one had seen me.

After a few moments and no sound of cameras clicking, I knew that I was safe. I hesitated only for a few moments before deciding to hit up a restaurant outside of the hotel. That would give time for the paparazzi would clear and I could avoid Hailey for a few more hours, since she was shacked up in my room.

I took a right and saw a tiny cafe tucked inside of a bookstore. I considered stopping there but then my stomach rumbled so loudly I felt like it was going to explode out of me. Even though I'd only done one of my workouts instead of my traditional routine of two, my body was still burning through calories like paper on a bonfire.

I wandered a bit further when I saw a restaurant that looked promising. Hell, it was Italy. Anywhere would be incredible. The restaurant was dark and quiet. It was still early. I wasn't sure the time exactly but it seemed like it must be around five o'clock.

The script rewrites were threatening to set us back an entire day, so Fox had called it early to keep the relevant people around to go over new production schedules. I had offered to stay but Fox had practically shoved me off the set, telling me to get some sleep.

I knew that really, he just wanted me to get out of his face. He couldn't stand to see me hanging around and threatening to get in his way at all. As I stepped inside the restaurant, a bored-looking waiter at the back waved me over to a table in the far corner.

Maybe he did recognize me after all. This table was a wrap-around booth that was far from the windows. The only way that someone could see me would be if they were already in here.

I stopped dead in my tracks.

Olivia was sitting in the corner with a script and a basket filled with bread that she was shoving into her face absentmindedly. She looked adorable. I'd never seen her when she thought nobody was bothering to look at her. She was focused intently on the script.

I saw that she had a glass of red wine at hand. I wondered if that was all she'd been planning to eat for dinner, since she was on a budget. I weighed my options and ended up sitting in my booth. Then the server came over to see me.

"For you, sir?" he asked. "Wine?"

I nodded. "I'll have whatever the lady over there is having. And also - is there any way at all you could make it so she can't sit there anymore? Maybe wave her over here and tell her there's nowhere else in the restaurant for her to be?"

The server looked at Olivia and nodded appraisingly. "Certainly, sir," he replied, clapping his hands together. "I can make that happen."

I scooted over inside the booth, out of Olivia's sight line. After a moment I couldn't take the suspense and ducked my head as far over as I dared to so I could watch as he interrupted Olivia, lifting her wine glass up and motioning over to the corner booth. I had no idea what he was saying to her, but she looked concerned.

I ducked my head back when she glanced over. I was pretty sure she hadn't seen me. I felt a rush of excitement go through my body as I heard the wooden legs of her chair scraping against the floor.

I leaned back, feeling like a little kid. I tugged at the grey t-shirt I'd changed into before I'd left the set. I looked at my arms and realized I'd been in such a hurry that Bev hadn't wiped off the makeup that covered my tattoos.

So that's why nobody recognizes me
, I thought.
Could it really be that simple? They can't see my tattoos?

My thought process was interrupted a moment later by a loud sigh.

"You've got to be kidding me," said Olivia's voice. I looked over. There she was, looking just as stunning as she had earlier in the day. "So you're stalking me now?" she asked.

She seemed genuinely annoyed. Then she surprised me by actually sitting down in the booth, placing the dog-eared copy of the script onto the table. 

Giorgio the server set her wine glass down on the table with a flourish. Olivia asked him something in Italian. The only word I caught was "bread." Giorgio nodded and left.

"What?" she asked me haughtily. Her bottom lip stuck out slightly when she was angry.

I loved that I didn't know that about her. I'd spent seven years dreaming of this woman, but she had been frozen in time for me, an amalgam of dreams and reality. And the last time I'd seen her face close to mine was when she looked crushed. That had been my fault, too.

"What did you ask him?"

Olivia paused as if she were considering not giving me the satisfaction of an answer. "I asked him to bring my bread basket over here." She glanced around me back at the table she'd just vacated. "But he's disappeared with it, so there goes my dinner."

I laughed. "You really think I'm not going to feed you, Olivia?" I asked her.
Fuck.
I wanted to rip off her clothes and fuck her on the tabletop in this restaurant. Her tits were perfectly round underneath her thin, slightly sheer jersey top.

She caught me looking at them and crossed her arms. That didn't help. Her cleavage line was pushed up higher, becoming even more visible under her v-shaped neckline.

I reached for a glass of wine that hadn't appeared yet, settling my hand down onto the table in what I hoped wasn't an obvious display of my nervousness.

"Are you such an alcoholic that you automatically assume there's a glass of wine waiting within arm's reach?" Olivia asked, smirking.

Shit.
She
had
noticed. "Just a little distracted today, I guess," I replied. "So how have you been, Olivia?”

She cleared her throat and picked up her own wine glass, taking an enormous gulp from it. "Fine," she replied. "And I'd ask how you've been but I already know."

For a moment I thought I should be flattered. Then I realized that you'd have to be living under a rock not to know what the press was reporting on me. It wasn't necessarily that she was
actively
seeking out information about my life.

"Well, don't believe-"

“Everything I read?" she asked with more than a hint of vitriolic pleasure at those words. "Ah, interesting thought. But it seems like everything I've read about you falls right in line with what I already know."

"And what's that?" I asked her.

"That you're still arrogant and entitled, but now you're also rich," she snapped. She was enjoying this.

Why was I surrounding myself with people who liked to make me uncomfortable? Okay,
two
people who liked to make me uncomfortable. Olivia and Fox. But after over a half decade of being surrounded by nothing but people whose job was literally to make me comfortable, I probably didn’t have any right to be complaining about that.

"You forgot the song," I added.

She looked confused. "Song?"

"The one Hailey wrote about me. God, if you've managed to avoid that one, then I need to learn your secrets." Giorgio returned with a fresh basket of steaming bread and a glass of red wine for me.

"Are you ready to order?" he asked me.

"House special, whatever that is. As long as it's not octopus or some weird fucking shit," I replied without looking up at him.

"I want nothing," Olivia said. "And these are separate checks."

"No they aren't," I replied. "She'll have what I'm having."

Giorgio looked torn for only a moment, but nodded at me and left as diplomatically as he could, clearly sensing the angry tension between the two of us.

"I'm not familiar with any song about you, you'd have to be more specific,” she said loftily.

"I’m talking about that
Fuck You
song that Hailey's been wailing across every awards show and television performance. I think they even used it on last year's
Grey's Anatomy
finale. Or so I was told. I don’t actually watch
Grey’s,
" I added, taking a sip of the red wine.

Fuck, it was delicious. I had to stop myself from downing the entire glass in one gulp.

Olivia shrugged. "Can't say that I have, actually," she replied. "There are a lot of break up songs on the radio and Hailey's music isn't exactly my type. Although I do watch
Grey’s
religiously.”