Dirty Professor (25 page)

“I think you can. I already know that you have a good eye for story, and a good ear for dialogue,” he said. “And frankly, I trust you. No one at the studio—no one anywhere, actually—knows I'm working on this.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he said. “And I don’t want them to. I don’t need to hear the negative comments about Leo Armstrong’s Epix Pictures working on what they’d no doubt call some sappy romance, and the industry chatter about my losing grip on reality and what makes a hit. I don’t need it. So I want to work on this with you, to see what comes of it.”

“Wow,” I said, intimidated. “Leo, I’m not sure I’m qualified for this.”

“You won’t be alone,” he said. “I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

I felt not only comfort in that statement, but warmth. Having Leo Armstrong as a mentor on a movie script was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Having Leo Armstrong by my side as I did anything was more thrilling and exciting than any roller coaster in the world.

Of course, now that he’d defied my preconceived notions about him, my guilt was slowly crawling back into view again. Guilt over the fact that Leo had entrusted me with more and more aspects of his business and his personal life, while I was…

Lying. Plain and simple.

I tried to shake off the nagging sensations of tension that were squeezing me from the inside, but it was hard to do. I almost wished Leo would do something mean again, just to remind me why I was doing any of this.

I’d always considered myself a pretty honest person, but for the first time I was starting to wonder how that could be true if I was willing to say and do anything for a story and my career.

The food was served in slow rounds, giving us time to enjoy every bite while talking about the story. We read through sections of it together and I got a feel for the tone. It was definitely more cerebral than any of his other movies, to say the least. He wasn’t joking when he said the majority would be set in the happy, sunny land of Australia.

Almost three hours passed. I’d been so consumed in talk of the story of Vivian and her true paramour, Ian, that I missed the sunset and couldn't even say how many plates of food we’d gone through. Not to mention the wine and cold sake Leo had ordered.

“It’s a good thing you have that driver,” I said, feeling tipsy. “It’s a long drive back to Wilshire Boulevard.”

“Luckily I have a place nearby,” he said.

I tilted my head. “You have another home?”

He smiled. “A man of means can’t have just one home, Sophie. What would people think?”

“It would be
so
low rent,” I said, taking a last sip of the sake. “And I’m sure this place of yours nearby is on the beach?”

He spread his hands. “Why bother having a house in Malibu if it’s not on the beach?”

“Naturally,” I said. “Well, if you can make it back to your place then Steve can drive me to my little shack in Culver City. Or as my roommate likes to call it, Santa Monica adjacent.”

“Or,” Leo said, “Steve could drive us both down the road to my house.”

Like I was going to say no? It was Friday night and I had the whole weekend to do nothing—no Kait breathing down my neck, and I could also put off up a little bit longer Ava Marie’s disappointment that I stood her up.

“Well,” I began, acting as if I was really thinking it over. “I guess we still need to talk about the ending of this thing.” I touched the pages of the still-untitled screenplay.

“The work never ends, does it?” he said. The way he looked at me, playful with an undeniable dose of want in his eyes, made me want to race back to his house—or anywhere private—and press my lips and body to his and never let go.

“Tough life,” I said, and within moments, the check was paid, and we were out the door.

Chapter Eleven

“Oh, I get it now,” I said.

We walked through the interior of his Malibu home, and across the open living room was a floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall picture window that looked out on a deck and the ocean. When we’d pulled up outside, all I saw was a shortened driveway directly off the busy Pacific Coast Highway, and had thought his place was a small, charming little bungalow. But the way it dropped down and spread over the hill and sand and was more spectacular than I thought.

Leo slid open the doors, and the rough sound of the waves and the cool breeze of the ocean all came rushing in.

“Impressed?” Leo asked.

I shook my head. “You know I am. You don’t have or do anything unless it impresses people.” His grin told me that what I said was true.

“Come look,” he said, and I followed him out onto the deck.

Lights shone out over the railing, down onto the beach and the water rolling in not but a few feet away. Leo came up behind me, his arms resting on either side of me on the railing, locking me in as I looked out at the view. His chin brushed my forehead. He covered his hands on mine and I let myself fall back into his chest.

“It’s beautiful,” I said. He kissed my temple, the heat of his lips on me undeniable. He moved down to my cheek and then my neck, making my eyes roll shut and a deep sigh flow out of out of my mouth. He let his tongue skim my neck, and lightly nipped the skin there, making me want to scream out over the sound of the waves crashing. I’d been kissed on my neck before, but never like
that
. Leo had a way of doing things to me, making me feel ways I’d never felt before. I tilted my head to the side, giving him more of my neck to kiss and lick and nibble. I pressed into his chest more. Reaching back, I put my hand behind his head, gathering the curls there, and pulled him even closer to me. I would have sworn I could stand there forever, letting his lips taste my skin, and I’d never get tired of it, I’d never get bored, I’d never be able to get enough. His lips moved to my shoulder, and he pulled away the small bit of fabric from my dress so that he didn’t miss a single spot. He took a little bite out of my skin there, and I yelped.

“Hey,” I said, looking at him. “Careful.”

“Can’t be,” he said, kissing the same spot. “I want to eat up every part of you.”

“How do you know all things I want right when I think them?” I turned around to face him, my back to the railing. I leaned toward him, my lips touching his. Despite the cool ocean air all I felt was the warmth of his lips. His tongue touched mine, and I pulled him closer, my hand digging in his hair as his wrapped around my back, pulling my hips toward him. I let my hand drift over his chest, and I longed to feel the skin beneath his shirt. Just as my fingers began playing with the buttons, he stopped me.

“Wait,” he said. “Come inside.”

I would have followed him straight out into the ocean if he’d asked.

I thought he might take him to his bedroom or at least give me a tour of his stunning (second) home, but instead we sat on the white linen couch, a respectable distance between us.

“Is everything okay?” I asked, suddenly nervous. Was he going to tell me that he didn’t want to see me anymore, or worse—that he knew who I was?

“Of course,” he said, reaching for my hand. I instinctively moved closer to him; he put his other hand on top of mine and held tight. With his eyes down on our hands, he said, “I don’t want you think I just brought you here to sleep with you, although,” he smiled, “I have to admit it’s on my mind a lot.” I grinned, my chest bursting with the pleasure of knowing I’d been on Leo Armstrong’s mind. He ran his fingers up my arm, sending chills all over my body. “But then I realized,” he said, “that I don’t even know where you’re from. I know somewhere in Maine, but I don’t know what town.”

I almost laughed. Actually, I think I kind of did. Leo Armstrong wanted to know where I was from? Okay, then. “Mechanicsville, Maine. It’s about as glamorous as it sounds.”

“Hmm, Mechanicsville,” he said with mock serious. “And I suppose you were raised to be a mechanic?”

“Way to go for the low-hanging fruit,” I said.

“An uncreative movie guy,” he joked. “What’d you expect? I need you to edit me.”

“Very funny,” I said, but I loved the sound of him needing me, even if he was only teasing.

“Did you always want to be a writer?”

“This is sounding strangely like a job interview or something.”

“Or something like a date?” he said. “I’d say a first date but I’m not sure we’ve properly had one so I want make sure I get to know you. Like a normal guy who is seeing a normal girl.”

“You are so not a normal guy,” I said.

“And you are no normal girl,” he said, grinning. “So tell me—what’s your favorite movie?”

“Sure, no pressure,” I said. “Only the movie question.”

“It doesn’t have to be one of my movies,” he said. “In fact, I’m pretty sure it isn’t.”

“If this were a job interview, I’d definitely say one of your movies,” I said. “I’d say,
Dangerous Connections
. Or maybe
No Second Chances
. Both visually stunning.”

“No, come on,” he joked right back with me. “What kind of movies do you like?”

“This is like when someone asks what kind of music you listen to, and you have to admit that you love pop music more than anything.”

“I love pop music,” he said, touching his chest. When I gave him a look, he said, “Okay, I think it’s insipid and the end of civilization as we know it but that’s okay. You can still be a normal person and like pop music. Maybe. I don’t know, I might need to think on this one.”

“Forget it,” I said. “I’m not telling you what my favorite movie is or what kind of music I like.”

“So you
do
like pop music?”

He eyed me closely as I sat for a moment, thinking. Finally I burst out, “Okay, it’s true! I like pop music, which, by the way, means
popular
music. Lots of people like it. It’s fun and energetic and sometimes the lyrics really speak to me.”

Leo fell back against the sofa, his hands over his face. “Oh my god, what have I gotten myself into? Next thing I know she’ll be telling me her favorite movie is
Maid in Manhattan
.”

“Well, it wasn’t so bad…”

“Stop! I can’t listen anymore!”

“Oh, please,” I said. “Coming from the guy whose last movie had more explosions than the last six months’ movies combined. Yeah, that’s art.”

“Ouch,” he said, clutching his heart. “Hit me where it hurts.”

I reached over and put my hand over his, over his heart. “Don’t worry. You’ll survive. I bet that thing is made of steel, anyway.” He slid his hand out from under mine, and covered my hand with his. I felt the steady beat of it his heart beneath the soft fabric of his shirt, and once again I wanted to undo those buttons of his. My eyes found his, looking at me so closely, sending a swarm of butterflies into my stomach. His fingertips touched my face, then traced lightly over my lips, which were parted and eager for him to come closer, to cover mine with his.

“I love kissing these lips,” he said quietly.

I nudged my chin up the smallest bit, wanting to be closer to his. He didn’t move, just kept looking and brushing my lips, using his thumb to tug slightly on my bottom lip. I thought I might scream out if I didn’t have more of him, so I ran my hand over his strong, solid chest, feeling the muscles beneath, feeling his own breath pick up at my touch.

He took my face in his hands, pulled me to him and pressed his lips to mine. I inhaled his now-familiar scent, that sweetness and spice mingling together, and let his lips set the pace. Just having a part of my body pressed up to his, having his hands on me, was what I needed. Soon, his tongue slipped against mine, and I savored the taste of him. The deep intake of breath he took seemed to mirror the way I felt—any touch was thrilling, but I always wanted a little more, then a little more again.

He pulled me closer to him so that my chest was pressed against his. Our kisses became deeper, more urgent. My fingers got lost in his hair as his hands roamed my back and caressed my waist. He kissed my cheeks, not sweetly but passionately, and soon his lips were back on my neck, kissing, tasting, tugging on my skin. I turned my head, giving him as much of my neck as he wanted, and he covered me with more of his mouth, pulling down the side of my dress to kiss my shoulder. His hand ran across my neck and collarbone, and I leaned away to give him more, always more. He traced my skin with his fingertips, his eyes hungry and on my body.

I’d never felt passion like this in my life. I’d liked guys before, and had obviously been attracted to them, but nothing like this. With my ex, Paul, the kisses and everything else had been slow and dull, nothing like the feeling I had of wanting to rip every inch of clothing off Leo as he did the same to me.

He pulled one side of my dress strap down off my shoulder, then the other, kissing my chest as he went. I hoped with every cell in my body that he planned to kiss every inch of me, no matter how long it took. I’d never needed something so much in my life as I needed more of him, right then.

I reached behind me and unhooked my bra, exposing my bare breasts to him. His breath deepened as his eyes took me in.

“My god,” he said. “You’re so beautiful.”

His hand held my breast firmly as his mouth went back to my skin, going lower, onto the top of my breast as his hand stayed on the other, his thumb brushing across my hardened nipple. I arched my back, giving him more. His tongue lapped across my nipple and I gripped onto the back of his head, gathering his curls in my hand as I tried not to cry out. The slow licks his tongue made had me panting, and when he gently took my nipple between his teeth and gave a little pull, I moaned.

“Please,” I said. “Don’t stop.”

He gave me what I wanted. His mouth worked over my breasts more urgently, his hand holding and kneading me, and then his mouth was on me again, taking as much in as he could while his tongue worked its magic, rocking a sensitive spot in me, making me completely wet, wishing he could be all over me at once. The things he’d done to me so far—at his apartment, on his plane, and even here tonight—showed me that he knew exactly what my body wanted before I even knew myself. Tonight, though, I didn’t want to stop.

“Leo,” I said, but it came out like a moan. My head was tilted back, my fingers still tangled in his hair. I tried again. “Leo, wait. Not here.”