Breaking Her (Love is War #2)(63)

Because I was determined to be a professional, particularly about this.

Some of it was pure brassy nerve, the part of me always making up for the fact that I had been a victim once. Overcompensation as I tried to convince myself that I never would be again.

Deep seated and hidden just as well was how this elicited something ugly in me, how letting someone I hadn't chosen and did not want put their hands on me made me feel unclean. Sticky with an old filth that would not wash off.

There was even a physical pain that it triggered, a sharp stab, almost like a menstrual cramp but more acute and lower, that only came up when I kicked this particular internal hornet's nest. I'd never, never say it, though, or show it. I was determined to be a pro to the end, especially about this.

And I'd been good. Great. Compared to my co-star, I'd been a hell of a professional, but it was too much. Currently he was poised over me, grinding his relentless erection into my hip for about the thousandth time.

Suddenly I couldn't take it. Couldn't be tough and nonchalant about it for one more second.

I shoved at David, pushing him off me. "There's seriously nothing we can do about the erection he keeps grinding on me?" I addressed Stu.

"You know, most women would love this," David told me, tone deeply offended, like that would somehow change my mind.

I rolled my eyes. Those women didn't know this douchebag in real life. It was amazing how unattractive a mind could be even it fit was wrapped in a sexy as hell shell.

We'd been at it for going on fourteen hours. Take after take, with small breaks that didn't let us get far from set.

I was tired. The night before had been my first at Dante's house in four days. We hadn't slept much.

No rest for the wicked.

But it was more than lack of sleep that had me upset enough to pull a diva moment. I'd been dreading this scene, this interaction, from the get-go, and the fact that it was all worse than I'd been anticipating was not helping.

Stu called cut and came to stand by the bed. I sat up, one of the assistants brought me a robe, and I thanked him while shrugging it on. My eyes were on my director all the while. I was expecting to get an earful.

He looked back and forth between David and me several times, pursing his mouth. "This isn't working. I just assumed it would. I figured when I casted you two." He waved a hand, vaguely indicating our bodies. "I just figured playing up the sex would be a no-brainer. But I don't like it. I think we should do something with subtlety."

I was so relieved that I wanted to cry, but I hid it, just nodding agreement.

He wound up rewriting the entire scene. It ended with me taking my top off and fading to black. I was reassured that all he planned to show was some heavy side boob.

I actually had no problem with nudity. I just didn't. It was the touching while nude that I couldn't get past, or at least not easily.

The next time Stu called a break I found Dante in my trailer.

He was lounging on the sofa, phone to his ear.

He wasn't one to sit idle, so he'd started working again the week before.

He smiled when he saw me, holding up his index finger.

I just nodded and went for coffee. I listened almost absentmindedly to his side of the conversation and when I realized he was dealing not with day-to-day Durant Department store business, but with Gram's much beloved charity, I went warmer inside, the day suddenly felt less dark. Of course he would do that. Continue her work. Make her proud.

I was stirring the sugar into my cup when Dante pressed up behind me. He was still on the phone, and I hadn't realized he was moving close.

I jumped about a foot.

He slipped his free hand into my robe, running his palm over my breast. The pasty seemed to give him pause, and he fingered it briefly before he felt his way to the other one. That got a quicker check before his hand snaked down, feeling between my legs.

I shrugged him off, moving away. I didn't want him to touch me before I'd showered the feel of douchebag David away.

I went into the bathroom and locked the door.

I washed myself repeatedly, but I still didn't feel clean. When I finally emerged, he was done with his call. He got one look at my face and he seemed to know.

I felt like a child as he cradled me on his lap and tried to comfort me, but this was just the way of us. We'd always been too much to each other, filled too many roles. We didn't know another way.

"No part, no career, is worth doing this to yourself," he finally said.

"I'll be fine," I protested.

"And what about me?"

I pulled away, tipping my head back to look at him. "What about you? Can you handle this?"

"I'm dealing with it. I know you've wanted this since you were fourteen, and the last thing I'm going to do is stand in your way. I'm not going to lie, I hate this part of it. The idea of anyone seeing you . . . of your co-star touching you. It all makes me insane. But I can't stand in your way. This is your dream and I'll support it, even the parts that I can't stand."

"The worst is over," I reassured him. I understood the jealousy, the possessiveness. I could hardly fault him for it. I wasn't sure what I'd do if Dante's job consisted of touching other women for any reason.

It was a touchy subject all around.

"You were working on Gram's charity when I walked in, weren't you?" I asked him, though I knew the answer.