Bad Romeo (Starcrossed #1)(37)
Author: Leisa Rayven

“Is there a reason why you’ve stopped?” Marco asks, bewildered. He turns to Elissa. “Why have they stopped?”

Ethan still isn’t breathing.

“Ethan?” I whisper.

He doesn’t move, but there’s a gust of warm breath as he exhales against my neck. “What?”

“Are you okay?”

He pauses and sighs. “Yep. Fine.”

“Is it your line?”

He tenses. “Is what my line?”

“Is it your turn to say a line?”

He pushes up onto his arms and looks down at me, his jaw tense.

“Cassie, I have no fucking clue what my name is right now, let alone what lines I’m supposed to be saying. Let’s just get through this and we’ll figure out the dialogue later, okay?”

He sounds angry, but I know he’s just frustrated. I’m frustrated, too.

“Okay. Sure.” When I wrap my legs around him and pull him close, I feel the source of his frustration, hard against me. He lets out a strangled cry then slides down my body so I’m pressed against his stomach instead of his groin. “Jesus, Cassie, I’m really trying to think of dead puppies here, but…”

“It’s harder than you thought?”

He glares. “Are you trying to be funny?”

“No, because if I start laughing now, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

He drops his head. “Goddammit.”

“Less chat, more acting please, children,” Marco bellows. “Ethan, you’ve stopped moving. Do I need to explain how to make love to a woman? Because although I’ve never had the pleasure, I’m fairly certain it involves thrusting.”

Ethan sighs and starts fake thrusting again. Even though I know he’s trying to keep his erection away from me, I feel it graze the inside of my thigh.

“Shit. Sorry,” he says, adjusting his angle again. “Damn thing has a mind of its own around you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I mumble, because really, what else am I going to say? “How dare you get aroused when you’re simulating sex with me? The nerve of you!” Never mind that it’s wetter than a Slip’N Slide in my panties right now. He doesn’t need to know that.

It’s not as if either of us can help it.

Our physical attraction was never something we could control.

All too often, we gave in to what our bodies wanted without sorting out all of our other crap, and most of the time, we ended up regretting it.

Now everything’s wrong, because we’re trying to filter our debilitating attraction through our characters.

We’re faking not feeling it.

After a few more minutes of lackluster lovemaking, Marco sighs in frustration.

“All right, let’s stop there,” he says and waves his hand as he walks over to us. “This isn’t working. You two look as uncomfortable as vegetarians in a sausage factory. What’s going on?”

Ethan rolls off me, and we both sit up. Neither of us answers.

“Is it too intimate?” Marco asks, looking from one to the other. “Are you embarrassed? Because frankly, I’ve seen you both perform much more controversial scenes than this. Yet here you are, fumbling about like a couple of virgins. Where’s the passion? The fire? The gut-wrenching need for each other? You had it yesterday. What happened to make it fizzle?”

What happened is that Ethan unexpectedly apologized to me, and now we’re in some sort of weird relationship limbo, because we’re not friends, and we’re definitely not lovers. As strange as it is to say, we’re not even enemies, so … yeah.

Marco sighs and shakes his head. “Okay, then. Let’s skip over the sex scene and go straight to the morning after.”

The relief on our faces must be extreme, because Marco laughs. “You both look like I just donated bone marrow to save your lives.”

Not gonna lie. It feels a bit like that.

Marco talks us through the scene and tells us to go with our instincts. Like most directors, he likes to see what his actors come up with on their own before he starts shaping it. That’s all well and good, as long as his leading lady can keep her shit together and not collapse in an emotional heap.

When we take up positions on opposite sides of the bed, Holt says, “This will be easier, right?”

“Sure,” I say, with fake confidence. “I wasn’t the one who used to freak out after we made love, remember?”

He exhales. “Yeah, well, that was then. I’m fresh out of freak-outs.”

We lie down beside each other. He puts his arm around me and draws me in to his bare chest. I can feel his heart pounding under my hand, hard and irregular.

Out of freak-outs, my ass.

Despite my assurances, I’m freaking out, too.

Now that I’m here, I realize this position—my hand over his heart, his lips on my hair, our bodies pressed together—is more intimate than any sex scene I’ve ever done.

Sex is about hormones and body parts.

This is about closeness. Love. Trust.

All the things that scare the living hell out of me.

The first time Ethan and I made love, we held each other like this afterward. I was so happy. So in love with him.

Then everything went to hell.

In this position, with my head against his chest, I can hear Ethan’s heart pounding, fast and erratic. Just like it did back then.

A familiar ache starts in my chest and weaves up into my throat. I clench my jaw to stifle a groan, but I don’t think it works, because Holt tightens his arm around me and whispers, “Hey … what’s wrong?”

His hand comes up to my cheek.

I close my eyes and try to push down the panic.

This is ridiculous.

“Cassie? Hey…” His voice is all liquid comfort and unspoken affection.

A whole mess of past emotion surfaces and floods my body with too much adrenaline.

I sit up as my head starts to spin.

Within seconds, Holt’s arm is around me. “You look like you’re going to barf. It’s been a while since I’ve made you physically ill. Good to know I haven’t lost my touch.”

He waits for my comeback, but I stay silent. I’m in a full-blown panic attack, and it feels like my stomach is trying to crawl up my windpipe and strangle me.

“Cassie?” he says, frowning. “Seriously, are you okay?”

“No.” I’m wheezing, and his expression is too concerned. “Stop looking at me like that. You can’t.”