Wild at Heart (Walk on the Wild Side #1) (13 page)

Amber slumped against the fence, feeling like all the wind had been knocked out of her. Everything in her head was sliding—half-formed ideas and memories and contradictory emotions spinning and colliding.

Oh,
Nick
.

Stubborn, complicated, always-so-intense Nick.

Why would he have lied to her? If he hadn’t slept with Ruby, why would he want her to believe that he had?

Her memory flashed one image of him over and over: Nick thumping his fist against his chest. Saying,
I’m broken here
. Saying,
I’m not capable of love
.

And the same Nick saying he’d
fall over dead
if he lost her.

Those two things shouldn’t fit together—but somehow in that overly complicated mind of his, they did. She knew him awfully well, after all. Pieces started clicking together in her head. Her pulse rushed through her skull so fast and loud she felt dizzy.

Maybe—just maybe—the stupid idiot son of a bitch was trying to
protect
her.

Maybe he wanted her to think he’d slept with Ruby so she’d hate him too much to want to be with him herself.

Good Lord
.

Amber stared up into the aspen trees distractedly, watching the branches sway and sweep against each other, watching the bright green leaves glow and darken and glow again in a ripple of light as they shivered in the wind, a beautiful movement that made her wish she had a camera in her hands.

So beautiful
.
Pure chaos, but so beautiful.

Just like Nick. Just like stupid, wonderful,
what the hell am I supposed to do about him
Nick Turner.

Her fingers twitched, and she dug her nails into her palms.

And suddenly she knew exactly what she had to do.

Chapter Seven

It took some inventive wiring and use of tripods and C-stands, but once shooting was done for the day, Amber took a tangle of lighting equipment, microphones, and all three cameras to her cabin, and rigged them up to suit a different purpose.

The cameras were all focused on the bed, two zoomed in tight from different directions, one capturing a wide shot. The lights looked clumsy—rigging wasn’t her strong suit—but they were bright, and crowded in close the way she wanted them, so nothing would be left in shadow. For her purposes tonight, it didn’t matter if the equipment showed up in the shot. Only what happened on the bed mattered.

Shit
. Her heart thundered. If she’d really stopped to think about what she was doing, she’d pull all the plugs and maybe find a hatchet to chop all the mics and cameras to bits.

But this was the one way she could think of to get the truth out of Nick. Not the truth about what happened with Ruby Torres, which was ultimately beside the point, but the deeper truth: what was really going on inside him, what he was really capable of emotionally. And she needed to show him in a way he could see as clearly as she saw it.

Film was the language the two of them knew how to speak best. When they wielded the lens, the camera didn’t lie.

She took one last look around at her handiwork, sighed, fought off another burst of panic, straightened her spine and went out to get Nick.

“I need you for a little while,” she told him when he tried to make excuses not to follow her into her cabin. “Don’t ask questions. Just come with me.”

“Why won’t you tell me why you took my cameras?” he asked anyway, as she shepherded him through the cabin door. And then, as got a look at the set-up, “What the hell’s going on here?” He looked from the glowing bed to her and back to the bed again, furrowing his brow so deeply it looked painful. “
Please
tell me you’re just adding a scene that’s not in the script.”

“You could say that,” she said. “Something unscripted.”

Her throat tightened and her skin felt chilled despite the warm night.

Nick’s breathing had gotten more rapid, too, and she could see the pulse beat harder at his throat. “Okay, then—please tell me you need Jake and Ruby for this. I’d be more than happy to go and get them.”

“No,” she said, and sucked in a sharp breath for courage. “This isn’t about Jake and Ruby. This is about you and me.”

His mouth opened slowly, and his head began a hard shake from side to side. “No, Amber. No—whatever this is, it’s a terrible idea. These cameras. This—this bed,” he gestured at it like he was pointing at a ravening wolf she’d suggested they try to approach. “We should not get anywhere near this bed.”

“Just hear me out,” she said, laying her palms gently against his chest. “I swear, nobody’s ever going to see this but you or me. We can destroy it later. But first we just—we need to
see
.”

His eyes were locked on her, almost hostile in their intensity. “See what?”

“See what’s between us.” She gestured at the cameras. “You and me, Nick—we make films. That’s how we make sense of the world. That’s how we see most clearly. Before we decide anything, I want that clarity.”

“Amber....” He was backing toward the door again, licking nervously at his lips. “You
agreed
. We both agreed we made a mistake before. We weren’t going to ever do this again.”

I didn’t agree to anything
, she wanted to say. But she knew if she said it, he’d leave. And if he went back out that door, it was over. She talked fast. “After this, we can stop, okay? Nick, do this one thing for me, and I swear to God I won’t ask again.”

She pulled her shirt off over her head. And unhooked her bra and let it drop.

That stopped him in his tracks.

His eyes grazed down her body. His hands fisted. She could see the struggle on his face, the need to bolt—and the onset of desire.

“I’m not asking for your heart here,” she said, “or your loyalty. Just sex.”

He stared at her breasts, his breathing turning to a rasp.

And she could see the actual moment when he surrendered to the idea.

He swore under his breath, but then he said, tightly, “The lighting’s not right.” He moved to the lamps and went to work the expert way he always did, adjusting wires and dials, sliding C-stands to different positions, securing clamps.

It took him only a few minutes, but the transformation was magical. What had looked hot and overexposed before now glowed gently, like a moonscape, like a private lair for a faerie king and queen. Like the bright, warm center of a universe.

It seemed...totally exposed, and utterly private all at the same time.

Perfect for what she needed.

Nick went to the cameras then, each in turn, and set them running, their red lights pointed at the sheets and pillows.

Nick turned to face her with a stare that was half challenging, half terrified, but steady, determined. “Okay, this is your show,” he said, and now his voice sounded an octave deeper, husky and impatient. He very deliberately kicked off his shoes, then pulled his shirt off, too, and the rippling muscles of his chest and abdomen looked more deeply chiseled than ever in the slanting half-shadows behind the cameras where they stood. “Shall we move to the bed?”

While she’d been setting up the cameras, cold fear had been the emotion that swam through her veins. But now, at the sight of his body and the sharp need in his eyes, desire swept through her with alarming force. Her belly heated and her breasts throbbed, and before she even touched him, all she wanted was to have him against her, on top of her, to have him spread her legs with his strong hands and drive himself hard inside. She had a purpose here, a logical plan, but her reasoning didn’t matter at the moment. She just wanted to feel his skin on hers.

And so did he, apparently.

In one quick stride, he reached her. With his eyes locked on hers, he slid his arms around her, both to one side, and lifted her, so fast and masterfully her feet left the ground before she was fully aware he was moving.

He maneuvered quickly between the stands of lights and cameras, bringing her into the glowing realm they’d created out of the bed. He eased her down onto the mattress and lowered himself over her. And the passion lit between them with the speed and force of a summer thunderstorm.

His mouth covered hers, the warm, sweet taste of his tongue instantly familiar, instantly wonderful. His hard chest pressed against her breasts, his hips ground against hers, demanding, his cock thrusting towards her hard through the button-fly of his jeans. She gripped the strong muscles of his back with her fingers, working her way down towards his waist, finally slipping her hands beneath his waistband to stroke against the firm power of his buttocks.

She’d been worried doing this so deliberately would be awkward or stiff or false, but somehow it wasn’t any of those things. It felt inevitable, easy, wonderful.

Nick worked his hand between them to get at the zipper of her jeans. His fingers were urgent—he wanted them off quickly. And so did she. She used her heels to push off her sneakers, to help him, to get all obstacles out of the way.

But she knew she had to stay in control of this, before things went too far, or the cameras wouldn’t catch what she needed them to catch.

“Wait, Nick,” she said against his mouth. Her hand found his, and pushed it away from her zipper. “Hold on.”

He pulled back instantly, as if he’d been scalded, and she heard him swallow hard. “You coming to your senses?” he asked slowly, his voice still thick with need. “Realizing we shouldn’t be doing this in the first place?”

She didn’t answer him. She just shifted her body out from under his and maneuvered him around, pushing against his ribcage until he realized what she wanted and rolled over onto his back.
He didn’t resist
, she thought,
despite what he said
.
He’s going to let me do this
.

“Scoot up a few more inches,” she said. “I want your head on the pillow.”

He stiffened under her touch, still wary. “Why, exactly?”

“I’m the director here, remember?”

“If you say so.” His green eyes held a glint, though, that said he wasn’t willing to give up control completely, and not anywhere near so easily. He didn’t move, either.

She got up on her knees and swung one leg over his hips, straddling him, but keeping her weight up off of him so she wouldn’t pin him down. “Trust me. Scoot up.”

“I do trust you.” His voice was a growl. “I just don’t think we should be here at all.”

“Is that what you think? What you really think?” She arched her back, jutting out her breasts, then stroked her palms over her own belly, upwards, slowly, sensuously, until they cupped and lifted the swell of her own flesh, tantalizing him.

“Goddamn, Amber,” said Nick, and she felt his ribcage heave against her knees. “Yes, that’s what I think. You know I’m right.”

“So you want to stop?” She leaned forward now, planting her palms on either side of Nick’s head, making her breasts sway inches above him, her nipples just out of reach of his mouth.

“Yes,” he said, harshly.

She shimmied her shoulders gently. “That’s all you want?”

“No,” he admitted, his eyes flashing with anger, and also with something else, something even hotter. “I want my mouth on you.”

That’s more like it
.

“And I want you to take those goddamn jeans off.”

Still, she shook her head no, letting the movement make her hair swing in a way she was learning Nick especially liked. His eyes widened appreciatively, and she swore she could see his pupils enlarge and darken.

And she was very definitely enjoying the view herself: Nick sprawled beneath her, his magnificent chest and shoulders bare, the dark waves of his hair rumpled, his sensuous mouth reddened from her kisses. Of everything she’d caught on film in her life, Nick was surely the most gorgeous.

Leaning her weight on the arm farthest from the cameras, she ran the fingertips of her free hand up his the taut ridges of his belly, up the hard groove of his sternum, teasing him, then brushed them over the firm bulge of one pectoral, then the other, just skirting the edge of his nipples. His nipples hardened visibly, and his hands went to her hips to pull her down against the bulge in his jeans.

Pushing with her knees and straightening, she jerked back out of his grip. “No more,” she murmured. “Not until you slide yourself up. Head on the pillow, like I said.”

He swore under his breath, nostrils flaring, all his muscles tensing, and for a moment she thought the tentative control she had was going to evaporate all at once, and he was going to seize hold of her and flip her over and pin her to the bed. Something in his gaze told her he was definitely considering it.

But then he seemed to come to a different decision. He flashed her a small smile, a centimeter short of a smirk, and said, “Okay. Your game, your rules.” And with his elbows he shifted himself up towards the headboard enough to lay his head on one of the pillows. “This more what you were looking for?”