Spoiler Alert (Spoiler Alert #1)(77)
“Claggy sponge!” Alex kept gleefully shouting, his voice loud and all too clear through the cell phone’s speaker. “Claggy goddamn sponge!”
After the evenings they’d spent apart, she’d rewarded Marcus’s patience at bedtime. He’d seemed more than satisfied with the tradeoff. So satisfied, in fact, that he insisted on returning the favor, and by the time she was satisfied, he was hard and hot and ready to climb aboard the Good Ship April for another naked, mutually enjoyable voyage.
Despite all the sex, though, she’d still felt guilty. It was past time they had an evening together, especially doing something that mattered to him.
“Okay,” Marcus said after a few more minutes. “I’ve sent you the three main contenders.”
Yes, he had. There were three new messages in her inbox, complete with attachments. But before she could open them and satisfy her curiosity, she needed to know more.
For the moment, she moved her laptop aside so it didn’t block her view of her boyfriend. “Now that Gods of the Gates is almost done, what’s your next step? Where do you want your career to go? What sorts of roles are you looking for? And why are these your three main contenders?”
For most of a decade, he’d been fitting movies and television roles in between seasons of filming Gods of the Gates, choosing his projects from the limited selection that both interested him and would work timing-wise. The absolute freedom he now had, to pick whatever role he wanted, no matter when and where filming would occur, was a recent development.
Sometimes she got the sense that all that freedom disoriented him a bit.
“I don’t think so.” He lounged back against the sofa cushions, his smile suddenly sharp-edged with challenge. “You like figuring things out, so do the work, Whittier. You tell me why these are the three roles I’m considering.”
It felt like avoidance to her, as well as a genuine dare, but he knew her all too well. She loved shit like this. A mystery. A test of her insight. An invitation to discover stories within stories. Not to mention the carnal promise contained within that lazy, inciting smile.
She raised her brows, meeting his insolence with her own. “If I get it right, what’s my reward, Caster-Hyphen-Rupp?”
At that, the tension broke, and he snickered.
Once he’d recovered himself, though, he looked her dead in the eye. Then he slowly scanned her, all the way from her haphazard ponytail to her curling toes, pausing at a few key spots in between. Her heavy, unbound breasts, nipples pebbling against thin, soft cotton. The lavish swell of her hips and belly. Her dimpled thighs, caressed by the brush of her lounge pants when she shifted under his stare. The juncture of those thighs, where he’d settled and teased and explored so many nights now.
A flush burnishing his cheekbones, he stretched magnificently on the couch.
He knew exactly what he was doing. He knew exactly how he looked. All his training for various roles and all his acting experience had taught him body awareness the likes of which she’d never witnessed before.
As he stretched, his thin tee rode up his flat belly, his biceps straining the sleeves. He arched his spine, his head thrown back in a way she recognized from their more intimate moments.
Not that this moment lacked intimacy.
He relaxed back into the sofa with a satisfied purr. Her labored swallow caught his attention, and that knife-sharp smile returned.
“Your reward?” Now displayed full-length along the couch, he folded his hands beneath his head and blinked heavy-lidded blue-gray eyes at her. “For each role you analyze correctly, I’ll take off a piece of clothing. And if you get all three right, you can have whatever you want. Anything.”
Twirling a loose strand of hair around her finger, she eyed him consideringly. She knew for a fact he was currently wearing three—and only three—items of clothing. The perfect number for her purposes.
It would take so little effort to get him naked. Even less to ride that handsome face of his once he was hot and needy and stretched out beneath her.
“Game on,” she said.
SHE HAD TO skim, of course, and she didn’t read the scripts all the way to the end.
Later, if he wanted her to read every word, she would. For tonight, though, for this particular challenge and discussion, that kind of intense scrutiny wasn’t necessary.
He watched her as she read, his steady attention on her a caress rather than an irritant. Whenever she took a break and glanced around her screen, she met his eyes and had to fight her own flush at the heat in that stare.
She kept waiting for him to grow bored, to produce his fancy headphones and listen to his latest audiobook, but he didn’t. He just lay outstretched and waited for her judgment.
The scripts varied so widely, she didn’t think she risked confusing them. Still, she typed a few notes to remind herself of what she’d read and concluded.
By Hook/By Crook: TV series set in Victorian NYC. Dramatic mystery/suspense. Slow-burn romance.
Central characters: semireformed thief (female) and former prostitute (Marcus), who combine street smarts to find murderer targeting victims too marginalized to garner sufficient police attention. Audition required. $$–$$$.
Exes and O: Indie film. Dramedy. Ophelia (O), for REASONS, ends up living with various ex-boyfriends as roommates. Jack (Marcus), whom she left and has missed ever since, is romantic endgame. No audition required. $.