in London, her stage fright was long defeated. She was over the moon at the chance to perform again, this time in front of a camera. The documentary and tribute was to be aired on the E! channel over in the States, but they’d made a special arrangement to come film our part in London. Our set was a trendy nightclub they’d rented out specially.
“Call me crazy, but I just had an inspired idea,” Julian went on. The stylist folded her arms, eyeing him sceptically. “How about no waistcoat at all? What’s the point of guns like yours if you can’t show them off every now and again, eh, Atwood?”
The stylist’s scepticism transformed into a giant grin, while my face morphed into a frown that said, Not in a million years. Unfortunately, I was outnumbered, and Julian was determined once he got an idea into his head. That was how I found myself walking out onto the set in a pair of dress slacks, tap shoes, suspenders, a porkpie hat, and little else.
When I’d thought of modernisation, this wasn’t exactly what I’d had in mind.
It wasn’t too different from what I’d been wearing in Moulin Rouge, except for the little matter of being completely shirtless. Julian grinned over at me from where he stood by the stylist, thoroughly enjoying my discomfort. The thing was, his grin had this way of making others want to grin, too, and it didn’t take me long to see the funny side.
I shot him a look that said I’d get him back one of these days.
His returning glance said, Challenge accepted.
It had been a long time since I’d been in front of a camera, but it was all coming back to me, the lights, the booms, the director’ chair over in the corner, cables running back and forth over the floor.
It felt like getting reacquainted with an old friend.
I stood talking with the director, a short, dark-haired man in his late fifties, when my attention caught on something shiny. Rose walked into the room, looking a little hesitant but still eager. My mouth fell open. She wore an emerald green dress with lots of shiny bits…what were those things called? Tassels? All I knew was the dress was exquisite, and it moulded to every generous, luscious curve of her body. Her hair was up off her neck, fashioned in a way that made it look much shorter than it actually was. Her eyes were what caught me most though, such vibrant blue outlined by dark makeup.
She was like every wet dream I’d ever had come to life.
“Mr Atwood? Did you hear what I just said?” the director asked, dragging my attention away from Rose.
“Pardon?”
He huffed and repeated himself. I nodded along, still barely listening. Rose’s dress was indecently short, her shapely legs displayed in all their glory. I want to fucking bite her right then, she was so sexy, especially in those shoes. I wasn’t a man who knew much about fashion, but Rose wore some sexy-as-fuck shoes at times. Several set workers surrounded her, one woman dusting powder on her cheeks while another fussed with her hair.
Rose looked up then, perhaps sensing my attention, and a blush coloured her cheeks. We’d been together long enough for her to know what my looks meant. This one said, I’m going to fuck you six ways from Sunday as soon as I get you alone. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I even saw her tremble slightly.
My cock stirred, but I told it to stand down. We had a scene to shoot.
A few minutes later, it was action time. The dance began, and I performed the tap routine Rose had spent countless hours teaching me, the cameras following my every move. Before I knew it, I was bending down and kneeling before her as she held her foot in midair, displaying the entire length of her leg sheathed in provocative lace stockings. The hat I’d been wearing hung on the end of her shoe. It didn’t take much acting on my part to look enthralled. Fuck, it didn’t take any acting at all, especially when I saw the seductive gleam in her eyes.
I took the hat, flicked it onto my head, and then it was all her. I was no longer the focal point of the scene — I was a simple worshipper on the altar of her talent. I could tell by the slant of her mouth that she was amused by my attire, or