Acting Brave (Fenbrook Academy #3) (29 page)

“We’ll make sure you’ve got something to tuck your cock away in,” said Dixon.

We
are
discussing my cock.

“So relax, big guy. Some gasping, some moaning, some rolling around. I’ve seen the chemistry you two have together. It’ll be fine.”

When he’d gone, I stood there staring at myself in the mirror. For close to a year, all I’d wanted to do was to get Jasmine naked. I mean, sure, I wanted all the other stuff too. I wanted to hug her and protect her and take her to a fairground and run through a goddamn field holding her hand. I wanted to be with her, not just have sex with her. But that didn’t mean I was any less hot for her. I hadn’t been able to get her out of my head, day or night.

One glimpse of that perfect, curvaceous body was enough to stop all activity in my brain, whether she was wearing one of those summer dresses she liked so much or the snug cop pants they’d given her for the show. What the hell would it be like when she was next-to-naked?

Next-to-naked and
under
me?

How the hell was this meant to work? What if I got a hard-on? Was I meant to? Would Jasmine be offended if I did or offended if I didn’t?

***

The next day, still shell-shocked, I stood staring at the bed.

I was in the bedroom of Isabel’s apartment. Actually, the bedroom was all there was—just one room, sitting in the middle of the TV studio. In fact, not even a full room, because there was no ceiling. Just four walls and then, high overhead, a big lighting rig. It was sort of like being in a weird, life-sized dollhouse.

I was in my own clothes for once, because we were going to start off by rehearsing the scene clothed. I’d had no idea what you were meant to wear when rolling around on a bed simulating sex, so I’d gone for sweatpants and a tank top.

Jasmine walked in. She’d actually gone for something similar—leggings and a t-shirt. She looked cheerful and relaxed, cracking jokes with the camera crew. And then she caught my eye and I caught just a glimpse, just a millisecond of what was going on in her head.

Like me, she was utterly petrified.

“Okay,” said Dixon. “Let’s block it out.” He grabbed my shoulder. “You come in here—as we start the scene, Isabel’s astride you, in her underwear—”

“Astride me?” I managed.

“You know—you’re carrying her, and she’s got her legs around your waist.”

Jasmine and I exchanged looks. “Okay….” I said, and motioned her forward.

She took two running steps and jumped, and I scooped her up and—

Pain exploded in my groin as her knee slammed into my balls. I kept hold of her, pulling her to me, but staggered. There was a collective “
Ooh…”
of sympathy from every male crew member on the set.

“What,” I croaked, “was that?”

Jasmine had her hands to her mouth. “Sorry,” she said. “Are you okay?”

I gently set her down and turned away from her for a moment, doubling up, a million colorful curses going through my head. “
Mmm-hmm,”
I said in a strained voice. My groin was throbbing in white-hot agony, but it gradually cooled to red hot and then merely scalding hot. I gingerly straightened up and turned back to her.

“Okay,” said Dixon gamely. “Let’s try that again.
Carefully.”

Jasmine jumped at me again and this time her legs went either side of me. Immediately, the pain in my balls was forgotten. All I was aware of was the soft press of her breasts against me, the smell of her hair in my face.

“You set her down on the bed on her back,” said Dixon, “And she opens her legs—”

“Where will the camera be?” squeaked Jasmine, horrified.

“Behind Tony, looking right at you. But his body will block yours, so it’ll be fine,” said Dixon.

I slowly went through the actions, while Dixon and what felt like a million camera operators checked the shot. Then he had me mime taking off her bra. And then slipping off her panties. Taking off a pair of invisible panties should have been funny, but knowing we were going to be doing this for real, nearly nude, in another hour, made it all feel very serious. Jasmine’s eyes were huge as I finished supposedly stripping her naked. My thighs were between hers and, even with me in sweatpants and her in leggings, it was hard not to think
I’m between her legs. I’m actually between Jasmine’s legs.

“Then you kiss her,” said Dixon.

“Wait, he takes off my underwear and
then
he kisses me?” asked Jasmine.

Dixon nodded. “I want that whole, ‘he’s barely touching you’ until the kiss. Reverent. Like he’s worshipping your body. And then after the kiss, the mood changes and we go hot and heavy.”

I could feel my whole face burning. I couldn’t believe he was actually talking about how we—
No, not us. Tony and Isabel. It’s Tony and Isabel.

“Okay,” said Jasmine.

“Try it now. We need to check focus for a close-up,” said Dixon. “No tongues.”

“No tongues?” I asked.
That is the weirdest question I’ve ever had to ask.

Dixon nodded. “It looked fine in the locker room, but in close-up, tongues are too much. Just sort of play with her lips. Nibble on them.”

I’m being told how to kiss.
There were about twenty different lights on us, but the heat was nothing compared to the burning press of all those eyes.

“Hey,” murmured Jasmine, looking up at me. “It’s okay.”

It’s okay for you. For you, this is just another job and I’m just some guy, just a friend; for me….

I closed my eyes for a second and tried to focus.
Isabel. She’s Isabel. Not Jasmine. I’ve seduced her and we’re back at her apartment and—

I leaned down. I saw her eyes close a second before mine did. Our lips brushed once, twice and then—

God, I was kissing her again and it was even better than at her apartment, or up against the locker. It got better every time. I was addicted to her, to that soft, sweet feminine scent of her, to the press of her lips against mine. We kept it to no tongues and I thought that would make it less hot, but if anything it made it hotter. We were teasing each other, nibbling on the most sensitive parts without ever venturing inside. I sucked her lower lip and she moaned, biting me lightly in return, her breath fluttering against me.

“Good,” said Dixon, and he sounded genuinely pleased. “Wow, you two can really turn it on!”

I opened my eyes and Jasmine and I stared at one another. She was wearing the same expression of helpless lust I probably was, the breath shuddering through her. Except, in her case, I knew it was faked. God, how did she do that? How did she fake it so well?

“Okay,” said Dixon. “Now for the sex.”

***

An hour later, I was standing in my dressing room, naked except for a pair of black jockey shorts and some flesh-colored briefs beneath them. I had my arms out to the sides and I was staring fixedly at the wall. I was doing all this because a friendly, fifty-something woman was dabbing at my abs with a powder puff, putting on body make-up.

This is without a doubt the most embarrassed I’ve ever been,
I thought. Even worse than the time I thought Jasmine was a hooker.
Out of my comfort zone
didn’t even begin to describe it.

When she declared me done, she handed me a robe and bustled out. And then it was time to go to the set.

It hit me that everyone at the station was going to see this scene, when the pilot aired.
Maybe the show will be axed,
I thought hopefully. And then remembered I couldn’t hope for that, because this was Jasmine’s big break. I had to hope that the show was a huge hit. Emmy awards. That even my dad would hear of it.

I winced and stepped into the corridor.

Jasmine was just coming out of her dressing room, also dressed in a robe. We would have looked as if we were at a spa, if it hadn’t been for our deathly white faces. Without her heels, the size difference between us was even bigger, the top of her head barely up to my chin.

“Hi,” I said. I couldn’t think of anything else to say. Then, “Um. Are you…” I waved at her body.

“Am I naked under this?” She sounded as light and breezy as if she was discussing what she was going to eat for lunch, her voice a stark contrast to her pale face. “Almost. Bra and panties, but you’ll be stripping those off me. Then I have what’s basically a giant sticking plaster over my privates. And pasties.”

“Pasties?”

“On the nips.”

I am discussing Jasmine’s nipples. I am standing here next to Jasmine almost naked and discussing her nipples.
I nodded, trying to be as cool and professional as she was. “Right. On the nips.” I looked down at myself. “I’m in shorts. And, like, briefs, underneath.”

And then I ran out of things to say and we were left just staring at each other. I looked down the corridor, toward the set. “Um…”
Don’t blush. Don’t blush. Guys don’t blush.
“So...we’ll be pretty much….”

“Naked,” said Jasmine helpfully.

“And I’ll be kind of….”

“On top of me,” said Jasmine. “Between my thighs.”

She’s doing this deliberately. She has to be doing it deliberately.
When I was a cop, I’d faced down gang members and psychos...but a woman a good head shorter than me had me in pieces. “Look, I know what you said about...you don’t feel that way about me.”

She nodded and looked at me seriously for a second.

“But...I might...I mean, I might...you know…” I sighed. “I mean, I’m trying to be cool and an actor and everything, but I might still get—”

She looked right at my groin. “Hard.”

I nodded quickly. “Yes—”

“Stiff.”

“Yes—”

“
Engorged
.”

“Goddammit, would you stop it! Yes! Hard! And—”

She was laughing.

I stared at her, exasperated. “How are you
laughing?
Aren’t you nervous?! Isn’t this awkward for you?”

And then she stopped laughing and looked at me, and I saw it. She was just as scared as me. The joking was just her way of getting through it.

She took a deep breath. “It’s fine,” she said. “If you get...you know.
Rampant.”

I nodded. And I realized she was right: joking and fooling about were the only way we were going to get through this. She needed to know I was okay, that I wouldn’t freak out in there. So I forced myself to sound light and easy and said, “Are you ready? I mean...this is a big step in our relationship.”

She cracked a smile, and her eyes said
thank you.
“Are
you
ready?” she asked. “Are you ready for the full Jasmine experience?”

“Oh, really? You’re that
good?”

“I’ve been known to give lessons. Come on.”

And, leading me by the hand, she towed me toward the set.

***

Because it was a nude scene, they’d kept it to only the essential crew. Pretty much just us and Dixon. And four camera operators. And the sound guy and his assistant. And the make-up artist. And the clapperboard operator. And another ten people watching the monitors just off set.

“Okay,” said Dixon, giving us an enthusiastic smile. “Let’s go for it.”

I really liked Dixon. But I still wanted to slam him up against the wall and ask if
he
wanted to get his clothes off.

When I looked round, Jasmine was sliding off her robe. God, she managed to even do
that
sexily, a sort of slow-motion slither of fabric down her back, baring her perfect body. They’d put her in an expensive-looking dark green bra and pants set that set off her auburn hair.

Her breasts. I couldn’t take my eyes off her breasts. I’d spent the best part of a year imagining what they’d look like in a bra, getting glimpses of cleavage in her summer dresses and scoop-neck tops. And suddenly it was as if we’d been catapulted into an actual relationship and we were halfway to the bedroom, shedding clothes. God, she was perfect.

Only...this wasn’t a date. This was a job and I had to somehow keep it together even as her looks overloaded my brain.

The panties showed off her long, shapely legs, elegant and classic. She looked like one of those marble statues from ancient Rome, all curving breast and flaring hip. I’d seen her friends, Natasha and Clarissa, the ballerinas, plenty of times and sure, they were hot. But give me Jasmine’s body any day.

“Ryan?” Dixon’s voice. I realized that I was staring. I realized I’d been staring for quite a long time. I quickly shed my robe, figuring that if I did it fast, it wouldn’t be so bad.

It was bad. I could feel everyone looking but trying not to look. I’m comfortable with my body. I mean, as comfortable as any guy is. I have no problem stripping off at the beach or at the pool. But this was different—this was people examining me for imperfections. Judging me.