Page 87 of Breaking Free

“How did you know?” she asked, surprised.

“Christian mentioned him. He wasn’t impressed.”

“That makes two of us,” she muttered, turning and walking down the hall to the living room. Piper dropped the script onto her coffee table, walked to the sliding door, and stared out, something he noticed she did when worried. “This won’t only be my first nude scene, it’s my first love scene, and the thought of performing in front of a roomful of people has me a wreck.”

“I thought you said it was a closed set?”

“Closed means essential cast and crew only, but do you know how many people are considered essential? Dozens!” she exclaimed, not waiting before answering her own question. “I’m not sure I can do this. There’s a psychopath stalking me. I’m not sleeping. Taping starts in a few days, and I’m struggling to remember my lines. And, don’t take this the wrong way, but having someone around all the time isn’t helping my concentration.” The tremor in her voice betrayed the depth of her uncertainty when she continued. “Maybe I’m not cut out to be an actress. Maybe I should have stayed in Iowa working for my uncle at the bank.”

She was going through a bunch of shit, and he’d made it worse. He should have his ass kicked.

Tristan moved behind her, his hands gliding up and down her bare arms. He could feel the tension in her body and that her skin was like satin, but he forced that last thought from his mind.

“If acting is what you really want to do—”

“It is,” she said with more confidence.

“Then you can’t let anything stand in your way, especially self-doubt. And to keep your sanity, because this is a cutthroat profession in a back-biting town, you’ll have to learn to relax.”

“So you’ve said before. In case you haven’t noticed, nothing about my life of late has been conducive to relaxation.”

“You thought differently Wednesday night.”

“You couldn’t be more right,” she acknowledged with a little laugh. “For the first time in days, I wasn’t preoccupied with memorizing lines, half-naked scenes with Dirk the Jerk, or dealing with my crazy stalker.” Putting on a brave face, she turned in his arms and placed her hands on his chest. While gazing up at him, she playfully proposed, “Too bad I can’t perform the scene hogtied.”

The vivid image of her bound, head back, bare breasts trembling, her pink lips wrapped around his cock, sent a surge ofdesire racing through him. The temptation of her was too much. He bent and brushed his mouth over hers, softly at first, but then passion exploded. As the kiss deepened, she responded eagerly, her fingers curling into his shirt, pulling him closer.

He wanted nothing more than to lose himself in her, but a voice in his head reminded him of the boundaries they needed to maintain. He was there to protect her, not fuck her and put her at risk because he couldn’t be professional.

With great effort, he pulled away, his breath ragged. “We should stop...”

Her hands slid up his neck and over his head, his smoothly shaved scalp seeming to fascinate her. “I don’t want to. I’m not done being neighborly...sir.”

The voice in his head be damned. Unable to resist the pull between them, his tongue swept into her mouth as he backed her up against the glass doors. Their bodies molded together, her soft curves to his contours, kindling the fire burning between them hotter than ever.

One minute, he was kissing Piper, the next, he had a face full of her drapes. He pushed them aside and continued only to have them fall again a second later.

“What the hell?” he growled in frustration.

“The tieback needs to be replaced.” She pulled his head back down to hers, urging, “Ignore it.”

He couldn’t when it fell yet again, surrounding them. Tristan shoved the woven material aside and glared at the bedamned piece of braided rope. Naturally, it gave him ideas.

“That scene I was reading went something like this.”

Tristan spun her to face the glass. He quickly pulled off the tie back and bound her wrists behind her.

Not sounding the least bit bothered, she pointed out, “This wasn’t in the scene.”

“No? I recall it happening in a living room with a chair a lot like yours.”

“Did you actually read the script? It takes place in a bedroom,” she corrected him, trying not to laugh.

“Whatever,” he replied dismissively, done with the debate. Tristan lifted her, hastened to the nearby armchair, and sat with her straddling his thighs. His fingers slid into her hair, and he pulled her to him. His tongue swept inside her mouth, tasting her sweetness as he pushed up her tank, freeing her breasts for his fingers’ access.

Her shorts were more difficult, but with her head on his shoulder and her shifting from side to side, he got them off, along with her panties. Next came his zipper and an annoying layer of latex; they’d have to discuss fixing that soon.

“Hurry, Tristan,” she urged, her body writhing as she rubbed her bare tits against his chest. He sat up, pulling his shirt off over his head because even a thin barrier between them was too much.

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