Page 91 of One Last Shot

We wind through the same long white hallways back to her dressing room. She holds the door open for me, and when I follow her through into the dressing room, she turns and shuts the door with an eerie silence. The only sound I hear as she turns slowly toward me is her breath, she’s inhaling and exhaling like she’s trying to calm herself down.

“What are you doing here?”

“I found myself with a free weekend and an intense need to see you.”

The hard lines of her face soften and she rubs her palms against her thighs. “I thought I told you not to come.”

“I know, and I know you hate to be surprised. But Petra, it’s been too fucking long.” I cross the room in two steps and stop right in front of her. “I couldn’t wait until you came back to New York to see you.”

She leans forward, resting her forehead against my sternum and looking at the ground. “I missed you, too, but I’ll be in New York in a couple weeks. I needed this time to focus on this new phase of my career.”

“I don’t want to take away from that by being here. I just want to see you. Even if it’s only to have dinner with you and hold you while you fall asleep.”

The hot breath of her exhale is a balm across my chest. Then she tilts her head up and looks at me as I slide my hand around her neck, reveling in the feel of her hot skin on my palm. “You’re in luck, then. Tomorrow’s filming is canceled. Without saying too much, because I can’t tell you who she is, my guest had to fly to the Middle East to negotiate some sort ofsituation.”

“Does this mean you now have the day free?”

“It does.”

“And what were you planning to do with your extra day off?”

“Sleep?”

“Hmm.” I nod, as I trace the line of her jaw with my thumb. “I’m sure we can negotiate some sleep in there somewhere.”

Her eyes dance and her lips curl into a predatory smile. “I don’t negotiate.”

I take a small step closer to her, so our bodies are touching. “Is this like when you told me you don’t ask, yet you ended upbegging?” My voice is so low I almost don’t recognize it, but the longing flowing through my veins and what it’s doing to my body is achingly familiar.

“Iletyou make me beg, remember?”

“Like you’re going to let me win these sleep negotiations?” I dip my head and slide my lips across her forehead.

“Exactly,” she says as she tilts her face up, her lips begging for a kiss. And who am I to deny her?

* * *

From the top of the hill, Los Angeles spreads out before us in all her hazy glory. It’s clear enough to see the tops of the skyscrapers downtown, but the sun hasn’t quite burned through the smog.

“I don’t hate this view,” Petra says, taking a sip of her drink, then leaning back on her elbows. Her long legs stretch out across the blanket and her smooth shoulders shine at the edges of her tank top.

“Just the climb to get to it?” I tease.

“I did hate that climb. It reminded me so much of the conditioning we used to do before the snow fell to get in shape for ski season.”

“Except you were walking up a gentle path in the hills of LA, not climbing the Alps.” Petra’s body is all slim, graceful lines now and she clearly is not in the same athletic shape she used to be. This hike wasn’t hard, even for someone carrying around as much muscle mass as me. It should have been easy for her.

“Yes, but it’s been a week since I was taken to the ER for exhaustion, remember?”

Oops.“Okay, I’ll stop teasing you about it. I’m sure once your energy levels are back to normal ...” Her energy levels were just fine last night in her bedroom and this morning in her shower.

“I think my legs are just tired from last night.” She winks and a laugh bursts out of me so quickly I don’t even have time to consider holding it in. And then my body reacts to the memory of her riding me in the cool darkness of her bedroom with the moonlight flooding in through the windows.

“You can tell me if this is too personal,” I say, not sure where the question comes from but desperately wanting to know the answer, “but who was your first?” Given that she was still a virgin when I left her in Austria, I’m expecting her to say that it’s someone she met at boarding school, or even later while she was skiing on the World Cup circuit.

“You don’t want to know,” she says and glances away, gazing into the distance like I’m going to forget I asked the question.

“What if Idowant to know?” I ask. I lean back on my elbow so I’m resting next to her, but she still hasn’t looked at me. It doesn’t matter, with those movie star sunglasses, I wouldn’t be able to see her eyes anyway. All her emotion lies in her eyes.

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