Wheels of Fire - Autumn Jones Lake Page 0,119

strokes his fingertips up and down my spine. “My everything.” His feather-light touches push me toward the edge. I buck harder, my eyes rolling back in my head. I’m swept away.

His breathing’s hard and choppy, holding back. “Come, come with me,” I urge. He’s tried so hard to be gentle, but now his fingers dig into my hip. He dips his head and scrapes his teeth over my nipple.

Finally, he throws his head back, a raw sound rumbling from his throat. I can’t stop touching him. Running my fingers over his neck and shoulders, down his stomach. His body jerks and twitches. “You’re tickling me, little dove.”

“Tickling.” I tease my fingers, feeling his cock jerk inside of me. Little aftershocks. “I think we’re doing it wrong if it tickles.”

He grabs my hips and lifts me off him, rolling us so he’s on top, staring down at me. “There was nothing wrong about that.”

I wrap my arms around his neck and pull myself up to kiss him over and over. “Thank you.”

“Come on.” He presses a quick kiss to my lips. “Let’s get you showered and ready for work.”

I don’t want to leave our little love island. I want to spend every second I can with him while he’s here. “Do you want me to drop you off at the airport?”

“Nah, I’ll call for a car.”

“Are you sure?”

He leans down and kisses my cheek. “If you take me to the airport, there’s a good chance I don’t get on the plane.”

At least I know we’re both feeling the strain of him leaving.

My beautiful, perfect, love-soaked morning takes a dark, confusing twist as soon as I park my car at the studio. A swarm of people rush me as I try to cross the parking lot to get into the building.

Swept up in a sea of strangers, flashbulbs, and question, my body locks up. I freeze, unsure of how to respond.

“Mallory, do you want to share your side of the story?”

“W-what story?”

“Your miscarriage.”

“It’s no one’s business.” I hate the trembling indignance in my voice. How dare they ask me such an invasive question. “Chaser and I would appreciate some privacy and respect.” I elbow my way through and refuse to say anything else.

“What about the rumors that you were carrying Andrew Lane’s child? Do you want to address those?”

The question stops me cold. Why would anyone assume that? “I have no need to address vicious lies,” I answer tartly, tossing my hair back.

I knew my first day back on set would be awkward.

A soft, cool hand lands on my shoulder, pulling me to the side. “That’s enough. Go away and leave her alone,” Pamela scolds the throng of reporters.

“Ms. Scott, do you want to address the rumors of Mallory and your ex?”

“No, and you shouldn’t waste your time with that hogwash either.” She leans down and whispers in my ear, “Come on, let’s go inside.”

“Thank you.”

Tucking me close to her body, she strong-arms our way through the wild crowd. “Get them out of here,” she snaps at the security guard.

Inside the studio, she releases me. “Are you okay?”

“I was better until that.” I jerk my thumb over my shoulder. “Why would anyone even think…” I shake my head. “Whatever. Nothing should shock me anymore.”

“It was a big story while you were…gone.”

Chaser must have worked hard to intercept those stories while I was recovering. I knew reporters were camped out at our house, I’m so used to the lies tabloids tell, I’ve learned to ignore them. It never occurred to me to pick up a paper and see what their angle was on this story.

“Did you see the script?” I wave my copy at her. “What’s going on in that last scene?”

She bites her full bottom lip and looks away. “You’ll have to ask Sean.”

“I get eaten by a shark?”

I set my script down on the table in front of me. We’ve finished the read-through with the entire cast. Now I understand why my final scene trailed off into nothing.

My character—a lifeguard—gets swept out to sea while surfing.

And eaten by a shark.

None of the other actors have the courage to look me in the eye. I suppose being written off the show is akin to catching a disease. They’re worried it’s contagious.

The worst part is working all week, knowing the end is coming.

“I’m sorry,” Cindy says, when I stop by for her to go through hair and makeup for the few scenes I’m in…you know, before I’m eaten by a shark.

“It’s fine.”

At lunch,

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