“You’re a bloody eejit,” Keegan says cheerfully and claps his hand on my shoulder. “But, we already knew that.”
“I’m not. I know how I feel. There’s no reason a man can’t have an adult relationship with a woman without needing to marry her.”
“Don’t let Da hear that,” he says. “He might smack you one.”
I shake my head, thinking about the conversation I overheard him having with Lexi this morning. I think my brother would be surprised at how understanding our father can be.
But before I can tell him about it, Lexi’s head whips around, and she pins me with a horrified stare.
“What?” I call out.
“You stabbed your baby sister’s doll and then gave her a burial? What are you, a serial killer?”
“You should know, Lex. You write about them all day long.”
“Fictional serial killers, you monster.”
Ma’s laughing, clearly delighted by the whole situation.
“I was acting out Hamlet,” I say in my defense. “And the doll was an innocent bystander.”
“I was scarred for life,” Maggie says with a melodramatic sniff.
“There, there,” Lexi says, patting Maggie’s shoulder. “I’ll protect you from him.”
“Why are women so dramatic?” Keegan asks aloud.
“Watch it, my boy,” Da says. “We’re outnumbered.”
“No.”
I stare at her and feel a headache coming on. We’ve been combing through this screenplay all fucking day, and she’s being as difficult—as obstinate—as it gets.
If I were a true Dom, I’d bend her over my damn knee.
In fact, I think I might anyway.
“Lex—”
“Don’t you Lex me,” she says, pointing her finger at me. “You agreed that we’d leave it as is with the note to Luke and the director that they could try it the alternate way if they felt it needed it.”
“It needs it,” I reply. “And you won’t fucking listen to me. I’m not new to screenwriting, Lexi, and I’m not just trying to piss you off.”
“Feels like it from here,” she says.
“It doesn’t make sense the way you have it written.”
“What? So my editor and the one-point-two million people who read it are all wrong?”
I stand and push my fingers through my hair. I want to tear it out by the roots.
“It works in the book. But not for a movie. If you send her in there, yelling and making a scene, it looks ridiculous. But if we tone her down a bit—”
“Here we go.”
“It makes her look more professional.”
“I’m not toning her down. She’s a fucking FBI agent moving in on what she thinks is a serial killer, Shawn. She hasn’t just pulled someone over for speeding.”
“I get that. But—”
“Just. Stop. Talking.” She spins and pins me with her dark blue gaze, fury rolling off her in waves. She’s been different all day. Distant.
As if she’s pushing me away.
“I can’t fucking wait to go home,” she mutters. “I’m sick of having this same argument, every damn day. Just because you’re the screenwriter and I’m not, doesn’t mean you automatically know what’s best for my character.”
“I didn’t say that. I’m trying to explain to you why she shouldn’t run in there, yelling like a crazy person.”
“WATERMELON.”
I freeze and stare at her, unblinking. “What did you just say?”
“Watermelon,” she repeats. “Water-fucking-melon.”
“After everything we’ve done together, all the ways I’ve taken you and tied you up, this is when you pull out your goddamn safe word?”
“I’m done with this,” she says, chest heaving. “You fight me at every turn, and you want to change everything that I worked my ass off for a year creating. If Luke didn’t like the story as it was written, he wouldn’t have bought it.”
“Then why didn’t you just write the screenplay yourself, Lexi? If you didn’t want to partner with someone, if you didn’t want help, why was I brought in at all? Because this is a colossal waste of fucking time for me.”
She stands to leave, but I hurry after her and grab her arm, spinning her back to me.
“Don’t you dare touch me.”
“Oh, we passed this point long ago. You won’t run out of here now. We’re hours away from finishing this, and I’ll be damned if I’ll let you run away just because your feelings are hurt that I don’t want your heroine to act like a fucking stereotypical female agent who thinks she has to prove her prick is bigger than everybody else’s.”
“She does!” she screams in my face. “You don’t get it because you’re a man—and young, and handsome—but trust me when I tell you that women do have to prove that their dicks are bigger than everyone else’s in this world, Shawn. And if you think otherwise, you’re delusional. I don’t care if it doesn’t look good for a movie screen. It’s real fucking life and sending her into that room acting all meek and polite isn’t going to get the job done.”
We’re glaring at each other now, breathing hard. The room sparks with sexual energy.
I don’t hesitate. I push her back against the wall and descend on her, kissing the hell out of her. She doesn’t push me away. She rips my shirt in half, shocking and delighting me at the same time.
The sound of ripping fabric fills the air as we struggle to get each other naked as fast as possible. I turn and carry her to the desk, reach into a drawer, and protect us both before I push inside of her and ride her with savage vigor.
Her eyes are on mine, a mixture of lust and hate in their depths as she grips me and gives just as good as she gets.
I’ve never had angry sex before. I don’t know that I’ve ever been this frustrated with another human being before.
“You drive me crazy,” she growls and fists her hands in my hair.
“Back at you, angel.” I bite the ball of her shoulder and then pull out of her so I can turn her over and bend her over the desk. I smack her ass, hard, before pushing back in. “If you’re being mean to drive me away, to make me hate you, it won’t fucking work.”
I can feel her slipping away from me. I’ve felt it all damn day, the distance and coldness. Maybe it’s her way of letting go now so it won’t bother her later. I know she won’t be here in another twenty-four hours. I’m not in love with her.
But I’m not ready to say goodbye.
And right now, in this moment, I don’t have to.
She pushes back against me and slams her fist into the top of the desk, again both surprising and delighting me. Her intensity, every time we do this, is maybe the sexiest thing about her.
She knows what she enjoys, and she knows what she wants from me, and that’s a turn-on. But she’s also not the kind of lover who takes control.
I wouldn’t be content with that.
She follows my lead and trusts me implicitly, even now when she’s spitting mad and ready to punch me.