“Kiss me,” she whispered.
His mind shot back, with alarming clarity, to bumping into Jane outside, to the terrible hurt on her face when he’d mentioned Samara.
If you do this, he thought in a flash of certainty, it’s over. Whatever was possible with Jane will be impossible. She will never forgive you if you do this, Lars.
Samara wound her arms around his neck, stepping up on tiptoes to reach his lips. His hand still rested, where she’d placed it, on her breast, and her nipple hardened against his palm.
She will never forgive you. Never.
He blinked, sliding his eyes to the woman before him: Samara Amaya, by all accounts one of the most beautiful women alive, was standing in front of him in panties and a bra and he was…
—he slid his hand away from her breast and reached up with both hands to disentangle her arms from his neck—
…refusing her.
With unswerving conviction Lars faced the truth:
I don’t want Samara. I want Jane.
And I’m not going to do anything that would jeopardize a possible second chance with her.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m not…I mean, I don’t want…”
Samara blinked at him, her lips parting in shock as he placed her hands by her sides, then dropped them, stepping away from her.
Suddenly the front door of the trailer opened with a blinding flash of sunlight, and Margot stepped inside, pulling the door shut behind her. Realizing almost immediately that she wasn’t alone, her face registered surprise, her eyes sliding to Samara’s scantily clad figure before sliding back to Lars.
“GET OUT!” screamed Samara. “Don’t you know how to fucking knock?”
“Sorry! I’m so…sorry. I d-d-didn’t know…” The large woman turned awkwardly in the small space, trying to open the door to leave. “I didn’t realize—”
“Now you do. I’m busy. Get out. NOW…dear.”
She growled the endearment through bared teeth, but it wasn’t enough to offset her tone. Her voice, which was generally so light and carefree, was laced with…with what? Impatience? Yes. And frustration. And something else too. Menace? Surely not menace.
“I’m—I’m so sorry for interrupting you, Miss Amaya. So sorry,” mumbled the woman as she finally got the door open.
“Remember to knock next time,” said Samara in a singsong voice, waggling her fingers at the woman in farewell.
As Margot closed the door, Lars turned back to Samara, who sat back down in front of her vanity, taking out the ponytail and running long fingers through her inky black hair.
“Well that ruined the mood, huh?”
Could she have misunderstood what had just happened between them? Margot hadn’t interrupted anything. Lars had been in the process of turning down Samara’s offer when Margot entered.
“Shoot day,” said Samara. “Lots of pressure on the poor dear. She’s so fat, the heat’s probably getting to her. Probably Jane too.”
Lars stood by the door, anxious to leave, waiting to be dismissed, and incredibly glad that he’d had the willpower to—Wait. What?
“Jane?” He didn’t realize he said the words aloud until Samara tilted her face away from the mirror to look up at him.
“She’s always been chunky, but she didn’t use to be so fat.”
“Jane’s not fat.”
Samara chuckled, brushing her hair in long strokes. “Oh, you’re so sweet. No wonder she has a crush on you.”
“A crush?”
“Her eyes follow you around like a puppy dog.” Samara turned back to the mirror. “I’ll speak to her. Tell her to back off. She uses her dead parents as an excuse to glom on to everyone she meets. It’s very awkward. Especially for me. What can I do? She’s family. I was practically forced to let her work for me. But I’ll have a word with her.”
Lars was starting to feel awkward, all right. But it had nothing to do with Jane.
“Please don’t do that,” he insisted. “Jane’s been great. You don’t…you don’t need to talk to her.”
“Well, okay. But if you change your mind, tell me. Pathetic little thing. Well, not so little, huh?” She smirked, catching his eyes in the mirror. “Anyway. Enough about Jane. I want to talk about you…and me.”
She bunched her shoulders like a coquette and giggled as she turned back around to face him. “Sorry we got interrupted. Why don’t you come over tonight? I have a bottle of chilled champagne in the fridge! We can pick up where we left off?”
…at me rejecting you? Well, that’ll be fun.
No part of Lars was tempted by Samara’s offer, but the promise of Lindstrom Elite literally rested on her satisfaction and approval. He wasn’t about to whore out his body to a woman he didn’t want, but he did need to be delicate about her feelings. He had no interest in offending her.
“Wow. That’s tempting,” he said, still standing against the door. “But I have a meeting tonight.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of something: Jane’s beat-up Red Sox cap hung limp and forgotten over the corner of Samara’s vanity mirror.
Samara followed his eyes.
“That’s not mine,” she said, pursing her lips in disgust. “Ratty old thing.”
“No. It’s Jane’s.”
Out of nowhere he had a sudden flashback to Jane straddling him on the bed in her hotel room. He had barely had the self-control to demand she tell him to stop or go. All he had wanted to do was throw her on her back and bury his body in hers, quench his thirst, requite his longing—
Samara’s voice forced him back to the present.
“Ugh. It was her dad’s so she takes it everywhere. It smells.” Samara rolled her eyes before grinning at him. “So… tonight isn’t good?”
“I wish I could,” he lied, “but I have to work tonight.”
“I’m your work this week, aren’t I?” She tilted her head to the side, straightening her back, thrusting her chest out toward him. The back of her hand ran lazily across her chest, finally resting above her cleavage.
Strangely, the battered little cap hanging on the side of the mirror had more allure for Lars than the supermodel coming on to him. He simply wasn’t interested in her.
Maggie’s words flitted through his head, making more sense now. He didn’t like the way her costume assistant had appeared so terrified. He didn’t like the way Jane had turned into an automaton as soon as Samara had arrived, and what’s more, as much as he was still hurt by Jane’s rejection, he didn’t like the way Samara was talking about Jane either.
“You’re my client, yes. But I’m afraid my meeting tonight can’t be canceled.” He didn’t want to make her angry, so he smiled and softened his refusal. “Sorry about that.”
She smiled, mollified. “Of course. Tomorrow night instead?”
Again, he didn’t want to outright refuse her, but he had zero interest in spending additional time with her. Furthermore, he needed to get out of this trailer. It was getting claustrophobic.
“We’ll see,” he said noncommittally, opening the door to leave.