Текст книги "Fighting the Fall"
Автор книги: Jennifer Snow
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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 15 страниц)
He grabbed her tighter, staring into her eyes, as he said, “I can handle the pain. I can’t handle not having you a second longer.” He flipped her onto her back and lifted her legs behind the knees as he slid in and out of her body. His breathing was labored and the pain in his shoulder was almost unbearable, but he needed her, wanted her more than he cared about the pain.
“Tyson . . . are you okay?” she asked, looking concerned, but her eyes pleaded with him not to stop.
“More than okay,” he said, leaning down to kiss her.
But as he climaxed inside of her, he wasn’t sure that was true. If he was being honest, he wasn’t okay. He hadn’t been okay since the first kick-in-the-gut reaction he’d experienced the day she’d walked into his gym, into his life . . . since the first earth-shattering moment of awareness when he knew he had to have her and then the unfamiliar feeling of never having enough. He was starting to fall for her and that wasn’t okay at all. All he could do was hope when she eventually left, when she eventually didn’t need him anymore and went on with her life, that he could put the pieces back together again.
* * *
Sometime later in the night, she heard him climb out of bed and get dressed. She listened to the sound of his watch snapping into place, the zipper of his jeans, then the sound of his shoes on the hardwood floor. She kept her eyes closed. She wouldn’t stop him from leaving. That’s who he was. He’d never once lied to her or given her any false ideas or hope about where this was going or what was happening between them.
He was the love-them-and-leave-them kind of guy she shouldn’t involve herself with, the one she always avoided until now, the one who could no doubt break her. Yet, she wasn’t walking away . . . and she wasn’t pushing him away.
Nor was she placing any demands on him. She wasn’t going to try to change him, because she was starting to fall for exactly the man he was . . . even if that man was the kind who refused to be there in the morning.
She could live with that, couldn’t she? A man who loved her more completely in the dark than any other man she’d ever known, a man who made her feel a connection so strong, it felt as though the night would go on forever, but also a man who didn’t stay beyond the first few beams of morning light. A man who could be everything she’d always wanted, never known she’d needed, if he would open himself up to the possibility of a future with someone. If he could learn to trust that being with her didn’t mean giving up everything else he cared about, the goals he worked so hard to achieve for himself and his family, that being with someone only made everything else that much better. But a man who might never be comfortable letting her in and therefore someone she could never truly know, the way her heart wanted to know him.
She wasn’t sure she had a choice. Because living without him—without his touch, without his kiss, without that secret look they shared when others were around—was just not an option anymore. She liked him . . . a lot—she might even love him—but more than that, she liked herself when she was with him. She was proud of the person she was becoming through the training and the confidence he was giving her. He made her feel more loved, cherished, and admired than anyone ever had without saying the words.
Words had always meant so much, yet in the end they’d been meaningless, empty. In the end, they’d turned harsh and critical and hurtful just as quickly as they’d warmed her heart. She was learning that the words she perfected to deliver emotional performances onscreen were often fake, hollow, and manipulative. A real connection went so far beyond words.
Tyson had said he wasn’t the right man for her and he probably believed that. Hell, maybe she should believe it too. It would no doubt save her an inevitable heartache in the end
His cool lips pressed gently against her warm shoulder and she didn’t move, didn’t turn, didn’t open her eyes until the sound of the door shutting softly told her he was gone.
She could let him leave, but she couldn’t watch him go.
Chapter 10
The number lighting up Parker’s cell phone was one she hadn’t seen in so long, she almost didn’t recognize it anymore. Since her publicist’s press statement about her latest movie venture, countless industry friends had reached out, offering their half-sincere well wishes and she’d suspected it was just a matter of time before she received this call.
She contemplated letting the call go to voice mail. After all, she really didn’t have anything to say to Brantley and she knew nothing he could possibly say would make her feel good about the movie. He was probably calling to scoff at the fact she’d accepted a role in an indie film. But, it didn’t matter. She was excited about this movie and she was happier in recent weeks than she had been in years. How often did you get a call from an ex-boyfriend when life was going well? A second later she answered.
“Hello?” she said, as though she didn’t already know the caller.
“Parker, how are you?” Brantley asked.
Her heart did the usual flutter it always had at the sound of his voice, but she forced her tone to remain steady and nonchalant. “Hi, Brantley, what a surprise to hear from you.” Going into the kitchen, she opened the freezer and removed her frozen fruit, dumping it into her blender.
She poured in the coconut milk and the flaxseed oil and got ready to hit the button if she needed to drown out anything stupid he said.
“Really? It shouldn’t be. Of course I was going to contact the lead in my new movie,” he said.
Her pulse quickened. “What?” Was that his way of offering her a role in one of his new films? Would she actually consider starring in any more of his productions? A million thoughts spiraled through her mind in that second.
“Well, of course, it’s not really my movie. I’m just directing it.”
Her hand fell away from the blender. What was he saying? She refused to assume anything but that her gut was telling her she wasn’t going to like where this was going. “What are you talking about? What movie?”
“Into the Cage.”
Sitting on a stool at the counter, she rested her head in her hand. “You took on an indie film?” She couldn’t believe this. He’d always looked down on independent filmmakers and refused to watch anything other than blockbuster hits.
“Yes. Have you read this script? It’s fantastic.”
Her jaw clenched. Yes, she knew that.
“I couldn’t just let a movie this good sit on some film festival roster unnoticed, viewed by a hundred people. This movie should be on the big screen.”
She agreed, but she hated that it meant having him involved. She didn’t like the idea of being forced to work with him again. She wasn’t sure she was ready for that yet. “Exactly. This movie should be on the big screen. You’re not planning to do a script rewrite or anything, are you?” It happened all the time when the big studios got involved with small projects. They always had to make things bigger and better, often destroying the purity and rawness of the film in the process.
“No, we’re not. We love its simplicity. Besides, we want to keep the filming to the original five or six weeks.”
Thank God for that at least. They weren’t changing the movie she loved so much and her time with Brantley would be kept to a minimum. Still, five or six weeks suddenly seemed a lot longer.
“Anyway, I wanted to let you know about a cast read-through next week in LA. I’ll e-mail you the schedule and I’ll get Lucy to arrange your travel.”
Lucy. Right. His personal assistant, who’d assisted him with removing his clothing on more than one occasion. She clenched her teeth. “I’m training. I’m not sure I can make it there next week.”
“Surely you can take a week off.”
“No, I can’t.” She’d been making good progress transforming her body; she couldn’t afford to take a break. Besides, she didn’t want to go to LA yet . . . leave Tyson yet. “The original timeline gave me a little less than three months to get ready for this role, and I need to stick to my schedule,” she said firmly.
He cleared his throat. “Okay. Then we will come to you.”
Since when did Brantley succumb to the whims of an actor? He must really believe in this project. Which annoyed her, because she’d believed in it first. Had she not gotten the lead role and announced the project a few weeks before, he’d never have even read the script in the first place. “You’re going to fly the rest of the cast to Vegas?”
“If that’s what you need. You are the star,” he said and she couldn’t decipher whether he was being sincere or not. Knowing him? Probably not.
Either way, it did solve the problem. “That would be better,” she said slowly.
“Great. Besides, we still need to cast several real fighters for the movie. What better place to find them?”
She immediately thought of the young woman on the plane who hadn’t gotten the part. “Actually, ask Kilroy for the casting call sheet. There is one woman here in Vegas who might be a consideration.”
“Will do. Anyway, I’ll e-mail you the details once everything is finalized . . . Oh, and Parker—it will be great to see you again.”
She sighed. “I’ll look for your e-mail.” She hung up and tossed her phone onto her counter.
Well, that sucked.
* * *
“You okay?” Tyson asked as she hit the targets he held later that day.
“Yeah . . . I’m fine.” She jabbed several more times, desperate to take her frustrations out in training. Since the call from Brantley that morning, she’d struggled with mixed emotions about the project. Obviously Kilroy Clarke’s attempt at gathering interest and funding by casting her had worked, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that. But the biggest thing bothering her was she didn’t trust Brantley not to mess with the movie, despite his claim that they were sticking to the original script. She dropped her hands. “Actually I’m not fine. The movie rights were sold to Blue Cloud Pictures.”
The words were met with a blank stare from Tyson.
Right. She forgot she was talking to the guy who lived most of his life under a rock. “The movie is now in the hands of Brantley Cruise. Blue Cloud Pictures is his company.”
Tyson studied her, obviously not getting the problem. “Isn’t that a good thing? More exposure for the film? I thought that’s what you were hoping for.”
“I used to sleep with him,” she said. It was true. To say there had been more to her relationship with the man would be stretching the truth. She knew that now. They’d made movies together and had mediocre sex. They’d never shared the same passionate connection she had with Tyson. Nor had Brantley ever evoked the same gut-twisting, chest-tightening anxiousness she experienced whenever she was with Tyson.
“Where is he?” Tyson said, offering the appropriate response, for which she wanted to kiss him. But she held back as they’d agreed on keeping it professional in front of the other fighters. Not that they were really fooling anyone.
“Don’t worry. It’s not like that.” At least, she hoped it wasn’t. If Brantley thought she would be falling into bed with him again just because they’d be working together on set for six weeks, he was going to be disappointed. Their breakup had been final. Catching him with his assistant had been more than enough of a wakeup call to make her realize that there was no future with him. And the fact that she’d been more depressed about what that might mean for her career and not her heart told her everything she’d needed to know. “He’s just going to be in town with the other cast members in a few days. They want to do a read-through . . .” She’d received the e-mail with the schedule from Lucy an hour ago.
Tyson shrugged. “That doesn’t sound so bad. I mean, at least he isn’t asking you to fly out there, right?”
“He also expects me to throw a cast party at my place—a way for everyone to meet in an informal, relaxed setting before the read-through.” She hated cast parties. They had always been just an opportunity to try to schmooze with industry executives. It was at one of those parties years ago that she’d met Brantley in the first place.
Tyson nodded silently.
“Will you come?” she asked quickly, hoping she didn’t sound as desperate as she felt.
“No.”
“Please,” she said. The last thing she wanted was to throw this get-together, and she really wanted him there. She’d feel so much better with him at her side, coming face to face with her ex for the first time since the break-up.
He hesitated for just a second longer and she held her breath, her eyes pleading with him to say yes.
“Okay. I’ll come.”
“Really?” Relief washed over her.
He moved closer and touched her cheek; the cool leather of his training glove against her skin wasn’t the intimate contact from him she longed for, but she’d take it. “Yes. Now stop stressing and try to focus, okay?”
She nodded, and suddenly the weight from that morning’s phone call lifted. Tyson would be there with her. She wouldn’t have to face Brantley alone. She could do this.
* * *
“The black.”
Tyson stared at the two dress shirts—one black, one white—the only two he owned. The only time he wore them was for MFL events and then only because the organization insisted on a dress code, not trusting their fighters to not show up to media events looking like bums. “Are you sure? Black shirt, black pants . . . I don’t want to look like the man in black.”
“You mean Men in Black?” Connor asked.
“No. I meant Johnny Cash . . .” He shook his head. “Never mind. So, the black one? Really?”
“Yes. Look, this chick is probably hiring caterers who will most likely be wearing black pants and white shirts. You will already stick out like a gang member in church—you don’t want to be confused with the hired help.”
Good point. “Fine,” he said hanging the white one back in the closet and removing the black one from the hanger. He still couldn’t believe he’d agreed to attend, but Parker had looked so nervous about this party . . . or was it seeing her ex again? He wasn’t exactly thrilled to be meeting the guy either and the more he’d thought about Blue Cloud Pictures buying the rights to the movie, the more it annoyed him. It meant that when Parker left in a few weeks to start filming in LA, she’d be spending days and nights with Brantley Cruise– hotshot director she’d already been naked with. He hated the idea. And he hated that he hated the idea. A lot.
Connor looked past him into the closet. “Why isn’t your championship belt in the display case?”
Tyson buttoned his shirt from the bottom, having learned his lesson about missing a button the hard way when it was all the focus on Sportsnet after his first media press conference. One of the best mixed martial artists in the sport, but miss a button on a dress shirt and they jump all over it. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because I don’t want anyone breaking into the gym and stealing it.”
“Very funny. I told you—I wasn’t going to take anything.” Connor reached past him and took the belt from the closet. He ran a hand along the center, removing the thin layer of dust on the symbol of the cage in gold and the MFL logo. “My little brother—best pound-for-pound fighter in the light heavyweight division. This should be in the display case.”
Tyson ignored him. Connor wouldn’t understand the concept of delaying praise until it was truly deserved. He tucked the edge of his shirt into the dress pants and zipped them. Holding up his reversible leather belt, he said, “Which side—the black or the red?”
“That depends. Do you want to look classy or like a twelve-year-old at his junior high dance?’
He gave his brother a blank look. “So—which side?”
“The black side out,” Connor said, shaking his head, putting the championship belt back on top of the closet.
“I can’t believe I’m asking you for advice. Look at you—when are you going to get some new clothes?” His brother was still wearing the torn old, baggy jeans he’d shown up in and the gray Punisher Athletics T-shirt Tyson had given him.
“When I trust myself enough to leave the house.”
He nodded. So far, so good. Six weeks and his brother was sticking to his word—no drugs, no alcohol. He was gaining weight now that he was eating again, and his eyes looked clear. “We can . . . ah . . . go out this weekend and pick up a few things.” He cleared his throat and avoided his brother’s gaze in the mirror.
“Thanks, man,” Connor said, touching his shoulder for half a second, before letting his hand fall away. “You look good,” he said, stepping back as Tyson turned.
“Movie star good?”
“Those cauliflower ears, twisted nose, and tattooed head destroyed any chance of that long ago . . . but somehow your girl still finds you hot.” He shook his head. “Women are crazy.”
“Agreed,” he said, thinking about what his brother had just said. His girl? Parker wasn’t his girl. But he sure as hell wasn’t cool with her being anyone else’s girl and that was a first.
* * *
Parking his motorcycle in the driveway, Tyson removed his leather jacket and helmet and made his way around to the side of the house, where Parker had told him to go. He walked in through the open backyard door and went inside. Scanning the crowd inside Parker’s home, he was relieved that there were only twenty, maybe thirty people lingering in the open-concept kitchen and living room and out near the pool. He tugged at the sleeves of his dress shirt, but when they slid back up his arms, he unbuttoned them and rolled them several times. Fuck it.
“Wow, Tyson Reed in the flesh,” a male voice behind him said and he turned to see a tall, thin guy dressed in a light gray suit and red dress shirt, open at the collar.
Thank God he hadn’t listened to Connor and worn a tie. “Hello,” he said, extending a hand. “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage.” He had no idea who the guy was, but if he was the lead playing opposite Parker in this movie, he may have a problem with it. The man’s silver cufflinks were probably worth more than his championship belt.
“I’m Brantley Cruise, the movie’s new director.”
Even worse. The real life ex-leading man.
“I’m a big fan of yours and your father before you . . .” He laughed. “Wow, I’m fangirling all over the place here.”
Tyson forced a laugh, the flattery not easing his annoyance over the image that flashed in his mind of this guy with his hands on Parker or the knowledge that he’d casually tossed her away. He wanted to punch him for both reasons. “Thank you. I’d like to return the compliment, but I don’t watch a lot of movies.”
“Well, I hope you’ll watch this one,” he said. “Drink?” he offered as though he were the host of the party.
Tyson’s spine stiffened as he looked around again for Parker. He spotted her outside near the pool talking to several other guests and his mouth gaped. Dressed in a long, sheer red dress and strappy silver sandals with heels that gave her an extra six inches, he couldn’t tear his gaze away. The dress had no back and hung low in the front, which meant she was wearing next to nothing underneath it.
Damn.
“She is breathtaking,” Brantley said next to him.
His fist clenched at his sides. The idea that this guy also got to enjoy the view infuriated him. And in LA he’d have Parker all to himself. For the first time her chosen occupation annoyed him.
“And I have to say, that new body . . .” He let out a low whistle. “I mean, she was always smoking hot . . .”
He couldn’t take anymore. “You mentioned a drink. I’d love one,” he said tightly. His gaze shot back to Parker as she laughed at something one of her guests said and the sound drifted across the yard. Damn, he wished he were the recipient of that smile.
Brantley still stood next to him. “I was surprised you actually agreed to train her. What with your championship title on the line in a few days.”
He nodded.
“I mean, I know why she went to you,” he said with a cocky grin. “To try to make me jealous.”
Tyson’s eyes flew to the man. What? He frowned. “How would that have made you jealous?”
“When we were a couple, she knew how much I admired and respected you and your family. I don’t doubt for a second this whole MMA movie idea was just some ploy to get us working together again. She had to know I’d buy the rights to any movie just to get to meet one of my own favorite fighters, and the timing of her press release . . . A little too coincidental, you know what I mean?”
His jaw clenched. Had that been Parker’s motivation? She had been intent on him training her and she’d eventually gotten her way.
Her gaze finally landed on him and she smiled and waved.
He held a hand up in greeting, unable to shake off the other man’s words.
“I’ll get you that drink now, champ,” Brantley said, tapping him on the shoulder as he walked away.
* * *
“I met your friend,” Brantley’s voice behind her made her freeze.
“I noticed. Where did he go?” She’d come inside looking for Tyson moments before, but he seemed to have disappeared.
“I think he’s probably feeling a little out of place.”
No shit. “Well, I hope you made him feel comfortable.” Instead of acting like the arrogant asshole you are, she was tempted to add. She took a deep breath. Like it or not, Brantley now held the cards. He was the one with the power to make or break this opportunity for her career. She still hadn’t had time to sit and talk to him about the script. She hoped they were sincere about leaving it alone and working with the limited sets the original writer had planned.
“Of course. I always make people feel comfortable,” he said, draping an arm around her.
She shrugged it off.
“He seems to have quite the hard-on for you.”
His words made her turn and glare. “That’s none of your business.”
He shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t care. So if that’s what all of this was about . . .” He moved toward her and cupped the side of her face with his right hand, his left arm going around her waist. “You didn’t need to go through so much trouble.”
So much trouble for what? She slapped his hand away from her face. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, as usual.” She moved away from him. “If you’ll excuse me . . .”
He grabbed her arm. “I meant, if you wanted to get my attention, you got it.”
Her mouth gaped. Of course he’d assume all of this was about him. Getting his attention and possibly getting back together. It couldn’t possibly be because she was struggling to rebuild her career after the three failed movies he’d made featuring her and the fact that now an indie film was the only role she’d read in a long time that inspired her.
His thick skull wouldn’t understand any of that . . . if he was even listening. So, instead she said, “I’m glad that this movie will get a chance to be seen by more than five hundred people at a movie festival, but don’t misunderstand my intentions—you and I are never going to happen again.”
He grinned, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Believe what you want, Parker, but the only people for those in the business are other people in the business. We get each other, while the rest of the world looks on in awe, wishing they were us. Tattoos and big muscles may be doing it for you now, but you’ll wake up and leave him behind soon enough.”
She took a step toward him and, lowering her voice so her other guests wouldn’t hear, she leaned closer. “Tattoos and big muscles always did it for me . . . it was what I thought of whenever I was with you. Enjoy the party,” she tossed over her shoulder as she walked away, now more desperate than ever to find Tyson.
* * *
“You made it,” Parker said behind him, just as he was contemplating an escape. Watching her across the room talking to Brantley moments before had him more than a little on edge.
“Yes,” he said, turning to see the woman he barely recognized. Her hair curled and pinned back from her face and the tight-fitting gown, she had Hollywood written all over her. “You look amazing.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry I didn’t see you come in or I wouldn’t have left you to fend for yourself,” she said, taking his hand. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to some people.”
Fantastic. Meeting more of these industry people sounded about as appealing as a root canal. And he felt awkward on Parker’s arm—the curious, judging eyes on them as she made the rounds introducing him to people whose names he didn’t even try to remember. This was her world and he didn’t belong in it. That much was obvious.
But if it was obvious to everyone else, it didn’t seem to faze Parker. She looked happy to have him there, eager to introduce him to her fellow cast members and executives. How did she not notice the looks they exchanged? Or feel the tension in the air? Had she spent so much time in these situations that she’d become immune to it all?
As she introduced him to the movie’s screenwriter, a man who looked just as uncomfortable as he did, Brantley waved to her from the pool deck, motioning toward another new arrival.
“I’ll be back in a second,” she told him, squeezing his arm. “Don’t leave.”
“No promises,” he mumbled as she walked toward the two men.
The new guy smiled at her and gave her an appreciative once-over, and Tyson’s fists tightened at his sides. What the hell was wrong with him? He had to get his jealousy under control. He had no right to feel possessive over Parker. Wasn’t he the one who didn’t do relationships? Who wasn’t interested in anything other than his fight career? So why did he feel as though he’d been kicked in the gut when the guy leaned forward and kissed her cheek?
“That’s Darren Cable, the lead actor in the movie,” Dave, the screenwriter told him.
So that was the guy Parker would be kissing on set in just a few weeks.
He watched as the man moved closer to her and placed a hand casually on her back—so natural, as if it belonged there.
His temper rose within him. He needed to pull it together. This was her job. She had to entertain Hollywood’s finest . . .
But when the guy’s hand dipped lower to the base of her spine, he couldn’t stop himself. Crossing the room, he interrupted the conversation. “Parker, can I talk to you for a moment?” he asked, taking her wrist in his hand.
The look on the leading man’s face was pretty clear, but he didn’t give a shit.
Parker looked surprised at his sudden interruption. “Um . . . sure . . . Excuse me,” she told the men as he led her away.
He dragged her back inside the house and headed upstairs, not stopping until they’d reached her bedroom. Slamming the door behind him, he whipped her around and wrapped his arms around her waist.
“What are you doing? I have guests,” she said as his head lowered to her neck.
“I don’t give a shit about your guests. You’re driving me crazy in this dress,” he murmured against the side of her ear. “Take it off,” he whispered.
“But I . . .”
“As your trainer, I’m telling you to let that dress fall to the floor at your feet before I rip it off,” he said, biting her flesh at her collarbone.
She whimpered, and her hand shook slightly as she reached for the straps of the paper thin dress. Bringing them down over her shoulders, the weight of the fabric fell to the floor at her feet.
Standing in only her red, lacy thong and her silver strappy sandals, she turned slowly to face him. “What now, Coach?”
In an instant, his mouth was on hers, his hands all over her bare skin. They dipped below the string of the thongs on both sides of her hips as he pushed them downward, sliding his hand along the front of her flat stomach until he cupped her swollen mound of flesh between her legs.
She bit his bottom lip as his finger plunged inside and he moaned. “Tell me what you want,” she whispered against his mouth, her gaze locked with his, telling him she would do anything he asked.
“Bend over,” he said, turning her around, pushing her gently forward until she was resting on her forearms on the bed. Her hair came loose from the clasp and fell to the side as she looked over her shoulder, to watch as he unzipped his pants and freed his already throbbing cock. He stroked himself and groaned as he moved forward, toward her. “Open wider,” he said, easing her thighs as far apart as her thong around her ankles would allow.
He needed to have her now. He didn’t care that there was a house full of people or that her ex-boyfriend was making a play for her. He needed to be with her, be as close to her as possible, cling to her to try to erase these feelings of inadequacy and powerlessness taking over his emotions.
Kneeling on the bed behind her, he slid his fingers along her wetness. Then stroked her back, and hips and thighs. Her knees shook slightly on the bed and she gripped the bed sheets in front of her.
His hands left her and she heard the sound of the condom wrapper, then she felt his cock between her legs, the tip easing in gently at first . . . then plunging deeper, harder. One hand held her lower abdomen close to his body, while the other flicked her clit and explored the folds of her pussy.
“Harder,” she said, and he pushed deeper inside her, a moan escaping him as she tightened around him.
He leaned forward, resting his weight against her as his hands traveled upward to cup her breasts. He grabbed her nipples between his thumb and forefinger and squeezed hard. She let out a gasp and he kissed her neck.
A second later he pulled out, then sitting on the bed next to her, he picked her up and sat her on his lap, her body facing him, as he lowered her down over his cock once more. She rode him up and down, faster, harder, until she was panting and desperate for release.
His hands tangled in her hair and pulled her head backward as he kissed the base of her neck, burrowing his head into her breasts, as he came undone. A final thrust and he lost control, his fingers digging deep into the flesh at her back as he held her firmly in place as he pulsated inside her.
Knowing he was coming was enough and she rocked her hips forward as her body rippled in pleasure, before falling limp against him.
He kissed her shoulder, and smoothed her hair away from her neck. “See, wasn’t that better than the party?”
She nodded, kissing him. “You can crash any party of mine anytime.”
