program.
"Hand is fine. I've got all I need. You can get dressed now."
She expected him to prolong his torment of her, but he shrugged and reached for his pants. He slid them on, his beautiful body disappearing all too quickly even though she wanted him dressed and out as soon as possible.
He stepped into his shoes as he threaded his arms through his shirt. Walking over to the worktable, he buttoned the shirt, pausing to look over her shoulder again at the existing sketches she had laid out on the table. He took a few minutes to study them -- or fake studying them, his breath warming the skin of her neck the entire time.
"I'll be back Wednesday around five," he whispered ominously, his mouth close enough to her ear that it teased the superfine hairs along her jaw. "I'll want to see everything you've got, so be prepared, baby girl."
He left then, his words clinging to Melanie's skin as her knees slowly gave out.
Chapter Fifteen
"The two of you are screwing, I take it."
Melanie's stylus fell to the floor. She let it lay there, her wide gaze fixed on Michael Strake where he stood with one hip resting against her worktable.
She didn't need to ask who was the other half of his dirty assumption. Since Monday after Declan left, Strake had been probing the reasons for Bain invoking his contract right to select his own costumer.
Had she worked with him before?
-Yes, as a wardrobe girl.
How many times?
-Once.
When?
-Recently.
Had they known one another before that?
-Not at all.
And on and on and on, sometimes subtly but usually direct. Now he was getting to what had been his intended question all along.
"So he wants to..." he cocked his head, looked at Melanie's plump form and lifted both brows like he'd just swallowed a lemon. "Yet you're saying no because?"
She lifted her chin, his insult washing over her with a hot prickling of her skin. The look on his face said it was inconceivable that a woman like her would ever reject Declan Bain.
And maybe she wouldn't have if the situation had been different, but it was clear Declan wasn't interested in her, was just playing some sick game because her mother had married his father.
"I don't know where you're getting the idea that--"
Strake cut her off with a loud, dirty laugh.
"C'mon, sugarcakes. My production assistant saw you getting out of his limo Monday morning. He gives you a ride, gets you a job above your resume, then the two of you disappear behind a locked door for an hour and a half before he struts--"
"Look, we're related," Melanie blurted as her face turned a dark crimson.
Shit, that was the last thing she wanted to say. Better to have Strake think they were fucking around. Now he might ask her how or, even worse, ask Declan and give the actor one more reason to torment her.
Strake swept his gaze up and down Melanie's body, his mouth dancing with indecision at her thickest curves. "I can see the resemblance in the face -- your face is gorgeous"
The urge to retrieve her stylus and jam it in his eye quivered through her hand.
How many times had she heard that bullshit in life?
A beautiful face, but...
Grimacing in the shape of a smile, she corrected him. "We're not blood relatives--"
"So, legally, he could screw you," Strake said, rounding the worktable to her side. He stopped about a foot and a half away and eyed her again. "I know a trainer, works miracles, could get the rest of you to line up with your face."
Another wave of shock and anger rolled through her.
"Part of the benefits package, so to speak. That is, if you're interested in an upgraded package."
Her right eye twitched in disbelief. Had Strake really just adjusted his cock as he said the word "package"?
Her hand started to bounce on the table, the nail of her middle finger striking the surface hard and repetitively as she contained the urge to explode. A glance at the clock told her she only had to tolerate the idiot a few more minutes -- if Declan kept his appointment for five
"Hand is fine. I've got all I need. You can get dressed now."
She expected him to prolong his torment of her, but he shrugged and reached for his pants. He slid them on, his beautiful body disappearing all too quickly even though she wanted him dressed and out as soon as possible.
He stepped into his shoes as he threaded his arms through his shirt. Walking over to the worktable, he buttoned the shirt, pausing to look over her shoulder again at the existing sketches she had laid out on the table. He took a few minutes to study them -- or fake studying them, his breath warming the skin of her neck the entire time.
"I'll be back Wednesday around five," he whispered ominously, his mouth close enough to her ear that it teased the superfine hairs along her jaw. "I'll want to see everything you've got, so be prepared, baby girl."
He left then, his words clinging to Melanie's skin as her knees slowly gave out.
Chapter Fifteen
"The two of you are screwing, I take it."
Melanie's stylus fell to the floor. She let it lay there, her wide gaze fixed on Michael Strake where he stood with one hip resting against her worktable.
She didn't need to ask who was the other half of his dirty assumption. Since Monday after Declan left, Strake had been probing the reasons for Bain invoking his contract right to select his own costumer.
Had she worked with him before?
-Yes, as a wardrobe girl.
How many times?
-Once.
When?
-Recently.
Had they known one another before that?
-Not at all.
And on and on and on, sometimes subtly but usually direct. Now he was getting to what had been his intended question all along.
"So he wants to..." he cocked his head, looked at Melanie's plump form and lifted both brows like he'd just swallowed a lemon. "Yet you're saying no because?"
She lifted her chin, his insult washing over her with a hot prickling of her skin. The look on his face said it was inconceivable that a woman like her would ever reject Declan Bain.
And maybe she wouldn't have if the situation had been different, but it was clear Declan wasn't interested in her, was just playing some sick game because her mother had married his father.
"I don't know where you're getting the idea that--"
Strake cut her off with a loud, dirty laugh.
"C'mon, sugarcakes. My production assistant saw you getting out of his limo Monday morning. He gives you a ride, gets you a job above your resume, then the two of you disappear behind a locked door for an hour and a half before he struts--"
"Look, we're related," Melanie blurted as her face turned a dark crimson.
Shit, that was the last thing she wanted to say. Better to have Strake think they were fucking around. Now he might ask her how or, even worse, ask Declan and give the actor one more reason to torment her.
Strake swept his gaze up and down Melanie's body, his mouth dancing with indecision at her thickest curves. "I can see the resemblance in the face -- your face is gorgeous"
The urge to retrieve her stylus and jam it in his eye quivered through her hand.
How many times had she heard that bullshit in life?
A beautiful face, but...
Grimacing in the shape of a smile, she corrected him. "We're not blood relatives--"
"So, legally, he could screw you," Strake said, rounding the worktable to her side. He stopped about a foot and a half away and eyed her again. "I know a trainer, works miracles, could get the rest of you to line up with your face."
Another wave of shock and anger rolled through her.
"Part of the benefits package, so to speak. That is, if you're interested in an upgraded package."
Her right eye twitched in disbelief. Had Strake really just adjusted his cock as he said the word "package"?
Her hand started to bounce on the table, the nail of her middle finger striking the surface hard and repetitively as she contained the urge to explode. A glance at the clock told her she only had to tolerate the idiot a few more minutes -- if Declan kept his appointment for five
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