The set buzzes with activity as the production team makes the last touches to camera angles and lighting. The scene we’re about to shoot should leave fans speechless as the credits roll. Everyone expects my character, Bella Frost, to fall for Aaron, the more level-headed leader of the stalkers, but this scene is going to really surprise them.

“Places, people!” shouts Camillo. He’s wearing a battered beige ball-cap over his thick mane of silky black hair. He has the look of a handsome man who has lived a hectic life of too little sleep and too much stress eating. He’s uncompromising, and has a reputation in the business for making his actors go through twice as many takes as most directors, but that’s never bothered me. Some of my colleagues just want to get done with the shoot for the day, regardless of the final product. Not me though. Even if it’s ‘just’ a TV show, I want to make something that lasts, and I want every shot to be just as perfect as Camillo does.

I take my spot. We’re shooting this scene in a darkened alley with a healthy dose of ominous mist swirling around our feet. I can hear the faint hum of the smoke machine behind me, but I know they’ll edit that out in post.

“Andrew!” shouts Camillo. “Turn down the fucking smoke. I said create atmosphere, not simulate the actual atmosphere.”

From where I stand, I can see behind the facade of the set, but the cameras are positioned to hide all the falsity. Jason Stone sits cross legged on the ground, wearing his character’s trademark trench coat. I try not to roll my eyes when I look at him, wondering what I ever saw in him.

He’s strikingly handsome, but I’ve never been the type to date a guy purely on looks. Before I really got to know him, I mistook his eccentricities for sophistication. Now he just looks like an attention-seeking child to me, sitting there, clutching his forehead between thumb and forefinger, muttering to himself. He plays Jack Carpenter, the most wild and vicious of the stalkers. In the show, Aaron, the leader of the Stalkers, is constantly trying to keep Jack under control and failing.

“Ready on set!” Camillo yells.

Jason stands, grabbing his fake cleaver from the ground as he does. The Mangler. He stands with his feet a little too wide and his arms hovering a little too far from his sides in an attempt to look menacing. I find my character, pushing out Makayla as much as I can by focusing on the sound of white noise. The best way I can describe how I feel when I act is that I mentally split myself. I close myself off from the artificial parts of the set and let myself live in the moment.

I’m immediately drawn back to how I felt in the stairwell, cornered by the man in the gold mask. I focus on how ripped from the everyday routine I felt, how completely real it felt, like I was only truly living in those moments because they could be my last, how each word carried the power to end or prolong my life.

“Action!”

“What do you want?” I ask. My chest can’t seem to fill with enough air as I back away, making my words sound like a strained whisper.

Jack Carpenter steps closer, skillfully twirling his cleaver and tilting his head. “You.”

I back up until I feel the wall behind me and sink down there, legs too weak to hold me any longer. I shake my head, lip quivering and eyes filling with tears.

He kneels in front of me, fixing me with icy blue eyes. “I want you to love me.”

My thoughts momentarily break character to relish in how much this moment is going to shock fans. I remember Bella Frost’s past, and how much she always strived to get her family to love her and her boyfriends to love her. No one in her life ever actually loved her as much as they loved the idea of her. Jack Carpenter is as real as men come--completely driven by impulse--she lets herself believe that a man like this could actually give her the kind of love she’s craved for so long.

I squeeze my eyebrows together, shaking my head. “You’re a monster.”

He leans closer, touching my cheek with the blunt edge of his cleaver, dragging it down my skin and eying me with fascination. “I love you,” he says softly.

I swallow hard, using my most painful memory to draw up the tears. I don’t think about losing my parents or my most embarrassing moments or anything like that. I take myself back ten years to Donovan’s where Jesse Slade told me about how his father had been killed overseas , that he had already enlisted and was leaving for bootcamp in a week. My heart still feels raw and torn open from that moment all those years ago, and focusing on that memory makes the tears fall.

I reach to touch Jason’s face and let him kiss me as he crouches in front of me. His lips are cold and wet. I have to push down the wave of revulsion that overcomes me until my eyes slide just past his and fall on a man standing off-set. He stands almost a head above everyone else with broad shoulders. He’s wearing a suit, and I can’t quite see his face through the lights, but something deep inside my chest responds, as if I’m magnetically drawn to this man, as if he’s calling to me. My eyes widen slightly when I realize I’m still in the middle of the scene. I look back at Jason, close my eyes, and kiss him back.

I have to think back to how I felt kissing Jesse all those years ago to put passion in the kiss. I can hate him all I want, but Jesse might as well have been the physical embodiment of desire. Every touch, breath, and whisper from him seemed to drip with sexuality. Just the memory of his hands on me always sets my skin on fire.

After a few seconds, we pull back, foreheads resting against each other. The moment hangs and then Camillo calls cut. This is normally the point when he tells us to reset and run the scene again, waiting only long enough for makeup to be retouched. To my surprise, he looks through the camera’s view window for a brief time and then nods in satisfaction.

“Good work people. We’re done.”

There’s a stunned moment of silence from everyone on set and then a flutter of activity as people excitedly get to work breaking down the set so they can get home early for once. Jason smirks at me. “I don’t remember the script calling for tongue in that kiss.”

I roll my eyes. “Grow up, Jason.”

“I miss you,” he says, reaching to touch my face.

I flinch away. “We’ve talked about this, Jason. It’s over.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” he says, stepping closer to me.

I feel the first wave of panic flush through my system just before someone steps between us, pushing Jason back with a large hand.

“You can’t touch me!” He says indignantly.

“Fuck off,” the man between us growls.

There’s something familiar in his voice. It makes my breath catch. It can’t be…

“Don’t make me call security,” says Jason, sounding exactly like the spoiled diva he is.

“I am security.”

One of the set lights catches his face and I see for the first time who it is. I see the familiar features, the high cheekbones and the breathtaking jawline covered in a few days worth of stubble. I see the deep green eyes. Jesse’s eyes. My Jesse.

He wears a suit that fits him perfectly, and damn. He has filled out since high school. He was always in good shape, but now he’s the perfect balance of power and strength. He’s broad in the shoulders and strong, but not bulky. His hair is cut close at the sides and a little longer on top. It’s dark and smooth, making me want to run my fingers through it, at least until I remember how he broke my heart all those years ago.

Jason seems to sense that standing toe-to-toe with Jesse is only going to embarrass him further. He pulls out his phone and turns to walk away, muttering over his shoulder. “You have a few minutes before the real security gets here. Asshole.”

Jesse turns to face me and for the first time, his focus is entirely on me. It literally takes my breath, drying my throat instantly. I’ve spent so long thinking about him coming back as a “what if” that seeing him in the flesh is a complete shock. It only takes one look at his face to see that he has changed. God, has he changed. It’s not just the way his once clean and boyishly gorgeous face is now rugged, hard, and irresistibly manly. It’s something in his eyes as well, a stony quality that speaks volumes for what he’s been through. There’s pain in those eyes, even if he’s trying to hide it. I see something broken.

I realize I’ve spent all this time mentally creating a villain out of him. I’ve been picturing him laughing over drinks with some beautiful, exotic woman he met overseas. I never stopped to consider that he might not have found happiness.

I struggle between the desire to reach out and caress his cheek and the need to slap him and walk away, leaving him where he belongs--my past. It’s not my job to heal him. He certainly wasn’t around to help me heal after the damage he caused.

“Kay…” He whispers. His hard, calloused hand cups my neck.

Despite my fury, I feel myself leaning into his hand, eyes closing. His touch sends fingers of heat dancing down my spine, lighting a long dormant desire that starts in my core and blossoms outward. I blush when I feel my nipples harden. Anger mingles with desire, but I force myself to focus on the anger instead. He left. He threw me away even though I was willing to wait for him. Begged him to let me wait for him.

“Don’t,” I say. “I don’t know why you’re here, but you can do what you do best. Leave.”

“I’m your bodyguard. Your agent hired me yesterday.” The hint of laughter in his eyes puts me over the edge. Like he knows what he’s doing to me and it amuses him.

“No. Hell no. Consider yourself fired.”

His hand locks around my shoulder when I try to walk away. “Kay--”

“Don’t!” I snap, fighting down the swell of emotion that rises up. I won’t cry in front of him. I won’t show him how long I’ve held onto the hurt he left me with. “You don’t get to call me that anymore. You can call me Miss Pierson.”

“My fee is already paid, Miss Pierson.”

I swallow hard, trying not to focus on how sexy it sounds to hear him call me Miss Pierson.

“If anything happens to you now,” he continues, “it will be a stain on my professional record. So, like it or not, you’re mine.” He bites his lip, smirking a little at his choice of words and at the way they make me flush red. “To protect.”

“Not my problem. Now let me go.”

“I made that mistake once and I don’t plan to again,” he says.

His words make me pause, eyes locked on his. I regain my composure with considerable effort. “Let. Me. Go.”

He releases my arm and watches me storm off the set. I pass through makeup and props, having to weave through crowds of people rushing to get home early. I throw the door to the alley behind the studio open and nearly knock Kennedy over in my rush to get outside. She bobbles her coffee and barely manages to save it.

“Jesus! What’s the rush?” she says, scowling. “You came out of there like a sneeze.”

“Like a... “ I shake my head. Kennedy is notoriously bad with similes, but that one was terrible, even for her. “Nevermind. I have to go. Look I just… Jesse’s back.” I blurt the words out like an admission of guilt and start toward my car, but Kennedy hurries after me.

“Woah, woah there killer. You mean like the Jesse? Mr. Superhot hunk you never really got over?”

“That’s not true,” I say. “I never got over how much of an asshole he was. I got over him pretty fast.” The truth I won’t admit to Kennedy is I never did get over Jesse. I can’t admit that. He was real and strong in a way I’ve never found in a guy since. He cared for me with such an intensity that was overwhelming at times, and the brightness of his love for me back then still makes everything after it seem dull in comparison. And kissing him was, well… It was an experience. The sensation of his touch was so overwhelming that my body had to shut down everything else. I can still remember the way he smelled--something woodsy and so completely Jesse--and the way he ignited my desire. He exuded strength and sexuality. There was no defense against the hunger and passion he sparked within me.

I can’t admit any of that. Holding onto feelings like that for someone who broke my heart ten years ago probably makes me crazy. I’ve held a place for him in my heart all this time, convincing myself that I had to be building the memory of him up in my mind and the real thing could never compare. Little did I know I wasn’t even doing him justice. Just thinking about the way I felt when he looked at me makes me crave a cold shower and a glass of wine. I’ve never seen a man pulse with sexuality and intensity like that before. I laugh a little to think of what would happen if he guest starred on Stalked. Every girl in America would have a new obsession overnight.

Hating him should be easy, but I already feel the soft thrum of desire from deep in my core just from that brief encounter and innocent touch. My bastard body doesn’t even know what’s best for it. Jesse is trouble. The only smart thing to do is keep my distance.

Kennedy tries and fails to hide her smile. “Right. That’s why you look like you’re so turned on right now you might jump my bones.”

I laugh despite my irritation. “I’d have to be really, really turned on to resort to that.”

Kennedy looks thoughtful. “So it’s a possibility then? Noted.”

I slap her arm, feeling some of my anger dissipating with her humor. “Creep.”

She pouts, but I’m not falling for it. Kennedy has no shame, and hurting her feelings is pretty hard to do.

“I need to get out of here before he catches up with me,” I say, fishing my keys out of my bag and waving.

“Okay. I’m just going to wait here so I can get a glimpse of the guy that has you so turned on.”

I open my mouth to respond to that and can’t, snapping it shut and hurrying toward my car. I get in and immediately call my agent, waiting impatiently for him to pick up.

His shrill voice blasts in my ear. “Makayla, baby! You’re practically showering me with attention lately. I love it!”

“Where the hell did you find the bodyguard.”

“What? Oh, Mr. Slade? You said you wanted the best money could buy, and that’s what I got. This guy is like the Michael Jordan of the personal protection industry. His record is flawless. None of his clients have ever been hurt.”

“Well I want another bodyguard. I can’t work with this one.”

“You already paid him though. He cost twenty grand just for the week.”

My eyes bulge and I lean forward, clutching the steering wheel so hard my fingers hurt. “Twenty grand, as in twenty thousand dollars?”

“You said to get the best money could buy.” Frank’s voice is uncharacteristically hesitant now. “Didn’t you look at the contract I faxed over before you signed it?”

No. I was too preoccupied with trying to drink away the memory of the man in the mask. I sigh, pressing my palm to my forehead. “Just do me a favor and make sure I only have him for the one week, okay?”

“Sure, of course,” says Frank, obviously just relieved to be getting off the hook. “I’ll let you get back to your day. Ciao!”

He hangs up and I close my eyes, trying to gather some strength. Before I have a chance, someone in a suit tugs on the passenger door. I duck my head a little to try to catch a glimpse of who it is, but I can already tell from the fit body that it’s Jesse. I’m suddenly glad I locked the door. I expect him to yell for me to unlock it, but instead he just smoothly whips out a folded metal bar and shimmies it between my car door and windshield.

“Hey! Stop th—”

There’s a click and he opens the door, sliding into the seat smoothy with a satisfied sigh. He looks over at me, mouth pulled up in just the slightest hint of a smirk.

Cocky bastard.

“Where to?” he asks. “It’s hot as hell today. We could go for a swim. I know a great place.”

“We are not headed anywhere. You’re going to step out of my car and I’m going to go meet my stepfather.”

“I’m not ruining my reputation because some pampered starlet refuses to let me do what I was hired for”.

I suck in a deep breath through my nose, looking away from him. Looking anywhere but that gorgeous face that is begging to be touched and kissed. Or punched.

He chuckles, “Your nostrils still flare when you’re pissed. It’s cute.”

An idea occurs to me and I turn to face him. “You know what? Fine. You can protect me. I paid way too much money to let you go to waste. You can tag along with me to meet my stepfather and we’ll go from there.” We’ll see how long he can tolerate me before he quits on his own. He thinks I’m a pampered starlet? Good. It’ll make it easier to convince him to hate me.

He gives me a wary look but nods. “Good. I’ll drive.”

“No. I’ll drive,” I say.

He quirks an eyebrow, but looks unconcerned as he leans back in the seat and makes himself comfortable in the most infuriating way. The arrogant prick is trying to act like he just got exactly what he wanted. Unbelievable.

I pull out of the parking lot and feel suddenly awkward in the silence that follows. While he may be comfortable sitting in silence like some brooding war hero, I’m not. Silence makes me uncomfortable. And when I’m uncomfortable, my mouth gets ahead of my brain.

“So, what have you been up to since you ditched me?” I ask. “Other than push-ups.” I feel blood rush to my cheeks. Did I just say that? I have to press on the brakes when I realize how much I’m speeding already.

“Ten years and you still hold a grudge against me? I’m flattered you’ve been thinking of me.”

“Oh get over yourself,” I snap. “I just remember that you’re an asshole, and that apparently hasn’t changed.”

“Yeah. You’re right about that.”

We pull to a stop at a red light and I steal a glance at him. Brooding war hero is right. His face is a study in concentration, but his eyes are distant. What happened to him in the war? As much as I hate him for what he did, I hate seeing him suffer more, and part of me still wants to help him. I shake the thought. No way. I’m not going to be soft on him or go easy. He didn’t just leave, he made sure I would never even think about waiting for him when he told me he never even loved me, that I was just an easy lay.

The silence gets the better of me again and I find myself blurting another question. “So you’ve just been working as a bodyguard this whole time?”

“I got out of the SEALs about a year ago. I’ve been working personal protection since then.”

Personal protection. He doesn’t like the term bodyguard. Noted. “So why a bodyguard? You couldn’t think of anything else barbaric and mindless enough?”

I don’t look, but I can feel his glare burning into me. I regret the question, but I won’t let that show. I’m just so pissed. As terrible as it is, part of me just wants to make him hurt as much as I do.

“When I got back, it was like I couldn’t turn it off. I guess my brain got wired for living a few inches from death. Normal jobs… they wouldn’t work.”

I wait for him to say more, but he doesn’t. I sigh. I feel like I should apologize, and I almost do, but I stop myself. I’m not ready yet. Maybe I never will be. I can’t forgive him.