Page 57 of Marlowe Banks, Redesigned
“It’s only blocking?” she echoed.
“Position hands, make eye contact, lean in,” he repeated.
She spat out another fingernail sliver and shook out her hands.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll try. With the changes.”
His smile widened. “I’d hug you but I have a feeling almost anything I do right now will only make the next hour feel even weirder.”
Marlowe skipped a breath. “The nexthour?!”
“You don’t think we’re going to get it in one take, do you?”
“We’re damned well going to try.”
They headed back to set and did a quick rehearsal with the new lines and blocking, minus the kiss. The higher-ups agreed that the scene worked well and they should go for it. Marlowe and Angus took their places, her on the crates, him standing before her. The hair and makeup people swept in with combs, sprays, and powders, fixing stray hairs and blotting away any hint of sweat. Marlowe held up the ring. Angus set his hands on either side of her face, as before when he’d leaned in for a kiss. The contact caused her already galloping heart to race even faster, but a continuity monitor joined them a second later, ensuring their positions matched the prior take.Right thumb angled more. Left hand shifted down half an inch. Shoulder back. Hip forward.Angus was right. This was all about blocking. It didn’t have to feel intimate at all.
When everything was ready to go, the crew went quiet. The woman with the clapboard gave it a sharp snap, and they were rolling.
“I’ll be the one in the veil,” Marlowe said.
“But we only just—”
“We were kids. It was never going to last.”
They held their position, each trying to read something in the other’s eyes. Though Angus was fully in character as Jake—his jaw firmly set and his gaze razor sharp in its intensity—he snuck a hint of reassurance into his look. Then he stepped away, rubbing his chin and shaking his head, wrestling with his thoughts. Marlowe letthe ring drop with the chain. It was cool against her skin, solid and real, something to ground her. She started to push off the crates, but Angus lowered his hand and turned her way.
“Swear you didn’t come here looking for me,” he demanded.
She swallowed, gripped the crate, sank back down. “I-I swear.”
“Then what’s your cousin’s name?”
Marlowe looked toward the diner and back at Angus. “Lucy.”
“There’s no Lucy on the waitstaff.”
“Susan?”
“No Susan, either.” Angus watched her as though anticipating another denial. When no denial came, he closed the distance until he was within arm’s reach. He stopped there, his hands by his sides, both rolled into loose fists.
This was it. Marlowe’s moment to reach instead of being reached for. To take control. To make a choice.
She raised her hand and laid a palm against his cheek. His skin was soft, even with the stubble. His regard was unflinching. He was so close and so beautiful.
“I needed to know,” she said. “If I… I mean if you…”
He cupped his hand around hers, pressing it more tightly to his face.
“If I what?” he prompted.
Heart pounding, she traced his lower lip with her thumb. He inched forward until his legs were wedged between her parted thighs. She stretched up toward him as her hand slid to the back of his neck. The tip of his tongue grazed the inside of his lip, leaving behind a hint of wetness. Her whole body tingled as shivers of anticipation danced across her skin, real shivers that told her this was never going to be impersonal, not for her.
“I needed to know if you still wondered, too,” she said.
He nodded, barely. His Adam’s apple rose and fell as he swallowed. She edged closer. He did the same. She let her eyelids drift down, steeling her nerves. Then she shoved aside all remaining anxieties and drew his face to hers.
As their lips met, Marlowe and Angus held for a moment, as if each of them was allowing the other an opportunity to retreat. Neither took that opportunity. Instead, his lips parted as his head tilted to the side. She countered, a peck, a nibble, a taste, drawing him closer still. His hands slid around her hips, gripping lightly, and then not so lightly. She knotted her hands in his hair. It was stiff with product but she found her way in, curling her fingers into his locks. His lips moved against hers, harder and faster. Thought fell away. Impulse took over. Her tongue pressed against his upper lip. His pressed back. Her pulse leapt. Her skin ignited. His fists yanked the fabric of her skirt into little knots. She hooked a leg around his thigh. He let out a soft moan. Acting? Accidental? Did it matter? Did anything matter? All she wanted in that moment was to be closer, to feel more of him, to shred anything that barred them from knowing each other entirely.
