The Right Side of Mr Wrong. Jane Linfoot
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‘Nice morning for filming!’
Shea and the cameraman turned to include him now. He met Shea’s glance, and gave a wide, unrepentant, laid-back grin. ‘I hope you’re wearing … ’
But she was too fast for him. Before he could finish, she’d jumped in.
‘Yes Brando, I do have underwear on.’ She gave him a glib smirk. ‘I’d ask if you do, but given that half your Y-fronts appear to be on public display already, the question seems unnecessary! Good to see you shop at Calvin Klein.’
Nice one! Who’d have thought Miss Frosty-morning would have had that in her.
Feisty he could deal with.
Her hair was scraped back and he found himself wanting to pull it free, shake it loose, bury his fingers in the strands.
‘Pete just wants to get a shot of me walking into the house. It shouldn’t take long and then we’re done here.’ She was speaking to him brusquely now, her elbows by her ears, as she fiddled to replace a pin at the back of her hair. He caught a blinder of her breasts as she spun around.
‘Fine! Whatever you say,’ he chortled, chewing his thumbnail absently, aware that his eyes had locked on target as if they’d been superglued. ‘It’s a bit chilly out here, even for cashmere. You may want to add some nipple shields before you do the final take, but then what do I know?’
Shea glanced down, swung her arms around herself quickly, then recovering with enviable speed, turned her back on him firmly.
‘Not a problem, Pete’s mostly filming my back in any case, so it seems you’re the only one here worried by my nipple status.’ She flashed him a smile over a carefully positioned shoulder. ‘Shall we carry on, Pete?’
Blast. He shot himself in the foot there, now she’d be keeping her back to him for sure.
Yes Pete, no Pete. He gritted his teeth, and rocked on his heels as he watched her walk towards the door. Then she walked back, tilting her head towards that darned cameraman as they shared some joke, then she went again, this time shooting a smile over her shoulder as she disappeared into the house. Then she reappeared, and it looked like they had a wrap.
‘You do realise this is all bull, don’t you Pete.’ Brando knew he was sounding belligerent now, but somehow he couldn’t stop, and he didn’t give a damn. ‘It didn’t happen like this at all. I know you guys aren’t big on truth, but you might as well go one more time, and get close to what really happened.’
Brando stepped towards Shea, and had her scooped up, caught fast in his arms, before she had time to let out so much as a squawk. ‘There you go, that’s a lot more like what happened yesterday, if it’s an action replay you’re after.’ He clasped her close to his chest. ‘Shea Summers being carried over the threshold, I hope you’re getting this Pete!’
Jeez, she felt soft …
With long steps, he strode across the terrace with her in his arms, her bottom bouncing all the way on his rapidly growing erection, pausing only to throw the door open. He bounded into the house, kicked the door, and it slammed resoundingly behind them.
Time seemed to stand still in the echoing calm of the hall. Shea was lying, completely passive in his arms. He stole a glance down at her, and met her expression of long-suffering disgust.
‘Well done, Brando. Great shot, which I’m sure the viewing public will no doubt appreciate. Now will you please put me down.’ That was a fierce, no-messing command.
Suddenly reluctant to give up her warm yielding curves, he gripped her more tightly to him, took in the fullness of her mouth.
‘No, as it happens, I’m not going to put you down!’ He flashed her a defiant grin.
Not before he’d taught her a lesson.
As the pattern of his breathing broke, he felt the echo of a shudder pass through her. The slightest tremble of her bottom lip sent a twang through his chest.
Not before he’d had his fun.
No point delaying what had to be done. No point at all. He dragged her closer to his face, brought his mouth crashing down onto hers.
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