Chapter 5

Nebraska peeled off her jogging clothes and pulled on a pair of faded blue jeans, pairing it with a Metallica T-shirt. She went for a grunge look; she could be anyone off the street going to see a movie. No biggie.

Only the butterflies that set up shop in her belly told her that it was a huge deal. She’d been in eight movies. The last three, huge releases.

And every movie, she still held her breath and prayed that this wasn’t the one where the world found out that she was a talentless hack. She was her own worst critic, which was exactly why she needed to see the real reactions of people watching it for the first time.

If their faces lit up, if they clenched the arms of their seats, if they stared, mesmerized at the screen, and if they sat in their seats doing the pee-pee dance rather than get up and go to the bathroom after sucking down thirty-two-ounce sodas, then she knew she had done her job and done it well.

She headed for the bathroom, where she pulled out a pair of brown contacts to conceal her all-too-familiar eyes. Something about the golden shade blended with her native looks and dark complexion made her instantly recognizable, no matter how she concealed her hair or changed up her clothes. The brown contacts took away any exotic look her face had, and since she had started wearing them not a single person had recognized her.

Staring at herself in the mirror, she wondered what Slyder would think. He remarked on her eyes all the time. Not that what he thought about her should matter, but she liked him, and despite giving him a hard time she respected the efforts he went to just to keep her safe.

So why do you keep making it harder for him?

Because she hated being controlled. How many times had she seen actors and actresses lose free will over their own lives? It happened to almost everyone she knew. She didn’t want that. She didn’t want to have to check with a team of managers to see if it was okay if she took a trip to Aspen to ski, to participate in activism, no matter the cause, or for something as simple as going a mall and shopping at an American Eagle.

Her mother had a team of people who told her where to eat, where to shop, what the proper weight range for her height was. It was disgusting. She thought when her brother took over some of her mom’s management duties that it would stop, but it hadn’t. She weighed in three times a week and kept her five-foot-nine-inch frame between 131 and 134.

Nebraska needed a manager, but she absolutely would not hand her life over to a team of vultures keeping her in what they saw as perfect shape, so they could capitalize on their cut of her earnings.

 If she put a few pounds on her curves and Hollywood turned away from her? They didn’t deserve her in the first place.

Slyder knocked on her door, the loud hammering making her jump.

“Be right there!” she called.

She tucked her hair up under a worn, Nike ball cap and headed for the bedroom door. Pulling it open, she found Slyder, his forearm over his head, propped against the door- jamb. Keeping his face downcast, he rubbed a hand over his mouth.

He lifted his head, his blond waves falling into his eyes as they narrowed on her. “What did you do to your eyes?”

“Contacts,” she said, smiling, and bouncing on the balls of her feet. “What do you think?”

“I don’t like it,” he said,

“Ouch.”

“It’s not—I just don’t like you having to hide yourself. Especially those eyes of yours. I’ve never seen anything like them, and it feels like you’re having to change who you are for others. I don’t like it.”

It was exactly the right thing to say, the words crawling inside her and stirring up a warmth and intimacy she had never experienced with a man. “It’s temporary…and, as you pointed out, necessary,” she said, swallowing hard.

He straightened. “Yeah, but I still don’t have to like it.” He scanned the rest of her and smiled. “I dig the T-shirt, though. So, when do we have to go?”

“Not for another hour or so. The matinee is usually safer in terms of not being seen. You hungry?”

“I could eat,” he said.

“Come on. Breakfast is on me.” She headed for the kitchen, trusting him to follow. She pulled out the makings for pancakes and grabbed sausage links from the fridge.

“You need help?” Slyder asked.

“Nope. Go ahead and take a seat. You’re going to need your strength later.”

They both froze, the implication of the statement alive between them.

He watched her, his gaze roaming over her face. “I don’t know why, but when you look at me like that it doesn’t matter that those golden eyes are hidden. I still see them.”

The sausage links in her hands slipped to the counter. She snapped them up and turned to the stove, unsure of how to respond. The normal, smart-ass remark seemed harsh and dismissive now. Without her snark, she was adrift in a sea of awkwardness.

“I embarrassed you,” Slyder said.

“Of course not,” she said, waving the sausage, only the package flew right out of her hand and hit the side of the cabinet before falling to the floor.

His deep laugh rumbled from behind her, and a fraction of a second later his arms circled her waist and he turned her to him. “Yes, I did.” He cupped her chin and tilted her face up to his, exposing her to his eager eyes. “I didn’t think it was possible.” He kissed her bottom lip and pulled back, dragging his thumb over the spot he’d just kissed.

“Ye—ah, well, uh, I am human and all. I do feel things,” she said by way of defense.

“Oh, I think you do. I think you feel all the things, just like you want your audience to. You’re turning into a whole lot more than that defiant woman I first met. Not sure what I’m going to do about that, but I think I’m going to start by buying you breakfast before you kill someone with a pound of sausage,” he said.

She’d been hanging on his every word and then he hit her with the sausage remark—the sheer ridiculous contrast of the two totally killed any sexual haze and had laughter bubbling up in her throat.

“Nebraska NightRaven, actress, activist, troublemaker, sister, daughter, goes before a judge today for sentencing for the manslaughter of Slyder Ward, son, brother, Navy SEAL, who died in a freak accident after getting hit in the temple with breakfast sausage.”

She laughed harder, from her belly, her breath coming out in a wheeze and tears rolling down her cheeks. The freedom of laughter not born of nervousness so necessary, she had almost forgotten what it felt like zinging through her veins.

“I’m not sure there’s anything better than hearing your laugh,” he said, his hand curling around her neck and pulling her lips under his.

It wasn’t the urgent kiss from before, but an exploration of her mouth, one that had her knees going weak and her fingers curling around his biceps to hold herself up. God, she could go the rest of her life a happy woman if she just had him kissing her like this every day. Like she was the first, last, and only woman he intended to taste.

To claim as his.

His tongue tangled with hers even as he held her under her arms and lifted her onto the counter. He nudged her knees apart with one hand and the other sank into her hair, knocking the cap from her head, causing her hair to spill around their faces as they nibbled, sucked, and tasted one another.

She slid her fingers through his hair, tangling them in the thick waves before tugging at his scalp, reveling in the way he groaned.

His fingers slid from her hair, dragged down the side of her neck, leaving a trail of sensitized skin singing with delicious sensations that fueled her blood. When he grazed her collarbone over her T-shirt, the tingling shot to her breasts and she gasped.

He pulled his head back and glanced down at his hand.

She held her breath.

He stared at his fingers as they lay against her, no longer on her collarbone, but not quite reaching her breast which so desperately wanted his touch.

“Don’t balk on me now, Slyder. Touch me.”

He pressed his forehead to hers. “This isn’t how I want to do this. Groping like teenagers. When I touch your breast, I want the warm skin in my hand. I want your nipple teasing my palm. I want my cock nestled between your legs, so I can feel you getting wetter for me.”

She took his hand and brought the palm to her lips. The roughness of skin tickled her lips as she kissed the flesh there.

His gaze burned into her as he tracked her movements.

She bit into the meaty part of his hand, and smiled when his eyes narrowed. His chest rose and fell with his deep breaths.

“Promise me this isn’t over,” she whispered, blinking up at him.

“Not over. Not by a long shot. I promise,” he said with a gentle kiss to her lips. “Come on. I need sustenance to protect you. You keep me on my toes.” He lifted her off the counter and slid her body along his.

He bent over, grabbed her cap, and dropped it onto her head. “Conceal that sexy hair, or I’m liable to get you on your hands and knees and pull it.”

He headed for the door while she struggled to catch her breath. The thought of him taking her from behind was front and center in her mind, so clear that she’d swear she felt him inside her. Imagining his hard hands pulling on her hair shot shivers along her scalp.

She wanted that, and might even be willing to give up her last breath to get a moment of passion that compared. The kind of passion that awoke something primal inside you and changed who you are at the core of your being.

The kind of passion only Slyder could awaken in her.