DirtyInterludes (17 page)

Bridget stared at him askance and he shook his head. “I
fucking don’t believe it. I almost came.”

The kiss she gave him quickly turned ravenous. Passion
surged and he cupped the back of her neck, telling her with his mouth how much
he adored her. Wanted her above all else. She shifted and Max moaned as the
cusp of her vagina pressed against the head of his dick. Bridget whimpered,
enveloping him in her gorgeous pussy before riding hard until the culmination
of their pleasure crashed over them with enough force to steal the air from his
lungs. Limbs weak with gratification, he held her close, wanting to absorb
everything they shared. To halt time and enjoy what they had.

After a while, he let her go, and she rolled off him. Max
discarded the condom and lay beside her, his hand on her hip. She smiled
lethargically. He ran a finger along her cheek and hooked a lock of hair behind
her ear. Words deep within his chest threatened to emerge and he forced them
back into his heart.

“You’re unbelievable,” he whispered. “I’m glad I met you.”

She blinked as if to deter tears. “Me too.”

He kissed each eyelid, every touch of his lips on her like a
silent promise. A promise to be the man she needed. Settling closer to her, he
caressed her hip, scanning her face. “You don’t know how much of a rock you’ve
been to me. I lo—like you.”

Her eyes lost that luster and the smile turned a bit
fragile. He’d said something wrong, but he couldn’t make himself rectify it. He
almost said he loved her, but he’d only known her for such a short time, reason
demanded he give it time, but his heart commanded him to take the leap. But he
couldn’t. Not yet.

He kissed the tip of her nose. “I promise I’ll be here when
you wake from now on.”

“That’s a relief,” she said impishly.

“You’ll tame me eventually.”

She palmed his shoulder. “I hope so.”

He pulled her closer and rolled onto his back, her head
settling on his shoulder. He hoped she had the strength to stay once she found
out all there was to know about him. He kissed the top of her head and silently
prayed for time.

* * * * *

A week of bliss juxtaposed with agony passed. His days were
spent waiting for Bryce to wake. Every hour passed and twitches were explained
away by nurses as just that, twitches, nothing conscious at all. Max knew the
time was coming to ring his mother and return to the life he’d put on hold, but
several things stood in his way. Bridget had kept him from derailing and every
night he learned more about her and wanted her more with every passing second.

In his car, parked outside Dungeon, he was surrounded by
familiarity, but more and more he felt as if he were living a surreal dream.
How could life be beautiful, complicated and tragic all at once? The inevitable
had come upon him.

Swallowing back the apprehension, he exited the car and
walked into the building. From the outside, Dungeon’s building looked like any
other. The lobby was sophisticated and smart, hiding the dirty deeds behind
doors beyond. He nodded at the receptionist and marched toward Vane’s office.
Some rooms were shut off as production carried on. He paused before Vane’s
door, then knocked. Bidden entry, he stepped inside to find Vane tapping away
on his laptop. Vane leaned back in his seat, a brow raised. “Yes?”

“I’m taking more time off.”

Vane glowered. “Out of the question.”

“I wasn’t asking. Bryce needs me.”

“Bryce is a vegetable.”

Max stormed toward the desk, fury blazed as he slapped his
hands down on the glass surface. “
Fuck
you.”

Vane stood, tension radiating off him. “No. Fuck you. That’s
what you’re paid for.”

“Then don’t pay me. I don’t care. I’m gonna spend time with
Bryce.”

Vane scoffed. “And that little piece of ass you’re chasing.”

“Don’t fucking talk about her.”

“So there
is
someone. I knew it. Let me give you a
heads-up, you’re not the first person to try and pursue a relationship with
someone outside the industry and I’m telling you now, she’s not for you. How
many of us do you think tried to make that stuff work? All of us have at one time
or another.”

Max pursed his lips, hating the truth in Vane’s words.

Vane’s features softened. “I know. But is it worth the pain
of having it fall apart?”

Max rejected the notion, even as his breathing grew shallow.
“You don’t know that.”

Vane spread his arms. “Statistics speak for themselves.”

“I’m willing to risk it.”

Vane settled in his seat and rolled a pen through his
fingers. “Your funeral. Besides, I have a job lined up for you. Your usual
fare.”

Max’s stomach churned. Time slipped through his fingers and
he was forced to face his life again. “What do you mean by usual fare? Last
time I checked my contract was amended. I don’t trust what ‘usual fare’ is to
you.”

Vane rolled his eyes. “Are you still sore about that?”

Was he joking? “Hell yes I am! I have the contract that
makes me nothing but a piece of meat. So, yeah, I’m pissed about it.”

“Let’s put it this way. There isn’t any submission on your
part. Gotta give what the crowd demands.”

Max swallowed back the bile in his throat and stiffened his
spine. “I’m not doing anything. Not until I’m ready. And don’t think to pull
that shit you did with Dylan’s sister on Bridget.”

Vane blinked, his shock quickly covered by a mask of
confusion. “What are you on about?”

Max clenched his teeth. “Don’t think I don’t know. I know
you sent Dylan’s movies to his sister. You know Dylan was on the verge of
leaving after his mom passed and you wanted to control it. Control him. You
tried to take away the one thing that he loved. Well it didn’t work. We all got
to see what you would do to keep what you have. Why do you think Rube left? She
knows what a manipulative bastard you are.”

Thunder rolled over Vane’s features. “Where is she?”

“I told you, I don’t know. But I do know you play games.
It’s what drove her away.”

Vane tensed and Max spread his legs, adrenaline pumping as
he expected an all-out brawl. Suddenly, Vane expelled air sharply and rolled
his shoulders, casting aside his brief anger like dirty laundry. He sat and
fingered a piece of paper. “You’ll be here this time next week for the rollout
of the next production. Or you’ll find yourself teamed with Demi and followers
be damned.”

Max wanted to leap over the desk and beat the daylights out
of him. Instead he turned and stormed away, ignoring the startled looks as he
stomped through the building. Once in his car, he took his anger out on the
road as he drove toward the hospital. A waft of bleach caught him in the face
as he entered the facility and anxiety churned in his stomach. He didn’t
realize how one experience had changed his view of something so simple. The
squeak of shoes on vinyl and the ding calling for nurse assistance sent
prickles along his skin.

Turning into his friend’s room, he found Bryce much as he’d
left him. Dylan sat on a chair nearby, talking to him in earnest. The
desperation on his friend’s face said it all. Dylan paused and looked at him,
his lips a thin white line.

Max faltered in the threshold. “What?”

Dylan patted Bryce on the shoulder. “Be back in a minute,
buddy.”

Max’s heart raced, his stomach burning with bile. He allowed
Dylan to lead him just beyond the room and stared into his stoically drawn
features. “What is it?”

“He moved his mouth.”

Max’s gut dropped out. “You’re kidding. What did he say?”

Dylan shook his head. “Nothing. It was just… I don’t know
how to explain it. His mouth did this weird little grimace thing when I asked
how he was finding the food here.”

“Has he done anything since then?”

“No,” Dylan said on a sigh.

Hope burned to ash and his shoulder slumped. “It’s nothing.
Just a muscle twitch.”

Dylan frowned. “Are you sure?”

Max swallowed hard. “Yeah, pretty sure. I think I know what
you’re talking about.”

“Shit.”

Yeah. Shit.

Dylan rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced. “You think
you might have to make the call?”

Max knew the call his friend referred to. It was the one
he’d been putting off since the whole thing started. Cold sweat popped on his
forehead and he nodded stiffly. “Yeah. Look, I’ll leave you with Bryce.”

Dylan waved his hands. “Oh no, it’s fine.”

“I’m probably not good company at the moment anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

Max grimaced. “Vane wants me back on set in a week.”

The silence was telling. “And how is Bridget taking it?”

Max recoiled. “What has she got to do with it?”

Dylan’s chin tipped as the truth hit him. “You
are
seeing her, aren’t you?”

“I know what you think. I’m not going to tell her what I do.
Why does it matter so much to you if I tell her anyway? It’s just a job.”

“If it’s just a job, then why are you hesitating?”

Max hated Dylan for his logic. He stepped closer, his voice
lowered but weighed with frustration. “You think I don’t know the minute she
finds out what I do she’ll be out the door? I’m not an idiot and I’m not about
to let the best thing to happen to me slip through my fingers.”

“I know what you’re going through—”

“You don’t know shit.”

“Why do you think I came back before? Wasn’t it you who said
I’d be unhappy doing this? You knew something was up. Well, my lies almost cost
me Erica. It’s not worth it.”

Max recalled that day. Although happy Dylan had returned,
he’d sensed a sadness. For whatever reason, he didn’t think Dylan had lost
Erica over a small detail. “Better to beg forgiveness than ask permission.”

Dylan exhaled and shook his head.

Stung by his friend’s reproach, Max glowered. “I’m not you.
And Bridget isn’t Erica.” When Dylan opened his mouth, Max spoke. “Save it. I’m
done listening.”

Dylan’s lips pressed together but his nod was stiff and
reluctant. “All right.”

Max glanced over his shoulder into the room. Erica had taken
a seat nearby, her hand clasping Bryce’s. His chest constricted.

Dylan shifted, both their focus now on Bryce. “He seems so
peaceful. How long do you think it’ll be before he wakes?”

Dylan was so absolute about it and Max shrugged. “Who knows?
He better wake up soon, ’cause when he does, there’ll be hell to pay.”

Dylan chuckled, but this time it was weighed down by an
undercurrent of misery and fear. Maybe Bryce wasn’t going to wake up.

Chapter Thirteen

Max looked down at the cell and a frisson of fear ran down
his spine at the name on the screen. Vane. His allotted time was almost up.
Ignoring the call, he shoved the phone in his pocket. Around him, nurses and
visitors walked the hall. The familiar ding as patients called for assistance.
He turned down the all-too-familiar hall and drew to a sudden halt. Bridget sat
beside Bryce, her features animated and a glimmer of laughter in her eyes,
almost as if they shared an inside joke. Almost. His gaze settled on his
friend, his eyes closed and unresponsive. A dash of color caught his eye and he
recognized a gnome on the bedside. It had black hair complete with three blue
streaks in the fringe, just like Bryce. The gesture struck him square in the
chest. Swallowing hard, he tried to cough out the tightness in his throat.

Bridget glanced over her shoulder and smiled. “Hello. I hope
you don’t mind, but I thought to bring something for your friend.”

Max nodded at the gnome. “I see.”

She stood and picked up the gnome. “I made this today in
craft with my friend. We both like gnomes.”

He accepted the statuette. “You made this?”

Pink bloomed on her cheeks. “Well, painted it. Gnomes are
pretty stock standard unless you make them from scratch. But it’s the paint
that gives them flair.”

Misery swirled in a toxic plume, tightening in his chest as
he recalled the reasons for her gnomes. “He’s not dead yet.” The joy faded from
her face and Max felt it like a punch. “I’m sorry.”

Bridget wrapped her fingers around his and squeezed. “It’s
okay. You’ve been under a lot of pressure.”

“It’s a really thoughtful gift. Bryce’ll love it.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “I’ll leave you alone.”

Max tightened his hand over hers. “Stay.”

Her lids lowered in hesitation. “All right.”

Relief ballooned in his gut and he sighed. He wandered over
to the bed, Bridget hovering behind him. Max glanced at her. She’d slipped her
hand from his and clasped them together.

“What were you talking about when I came in?”

She lifted one shoulder in nonchalance. “Just a story about
the time I thought I was a cat.”

Max huffed a chuckle. “A cat?”

Bridget mock glowered. “Every child dreams of being
something.”

“Not like that.” He waved a hand in the general direction of
the bed. “Please don’t let me stop you on the retelling. I’m intrigued.”

She folded her arms. “I’m sure you’d relish in discovering
my sad little past, but I’d rather not expose myself for ridicule. Bryce is a
wonderful listener. No judgment.”

“I can listen. Anything about your pussycat escapade piques
my interest.”

She held out both hands. “Trust you to make it sound all
dirty. Sorry to disappoint, but it’s completely PG rated.”

A small moan filtered between them and Max frowned, his
focus on Bridget’s mouth. “You didn’t just—”

The moan came again and Max’s skin flushed, his gaze
snapping toward Bryce. Joy surged, his rib cage seeming to struggle to hold it
all in as he leapt toward the bed. “Bryce? Can you hear me?”

Eyelids fluttered but remained closed. His heart thundered,
adrenaline making his hand shake. He narrowed his focus on Bryce’s face,
watching for another sign of consciousness.

“Get a doctor,” he said without looking at Bridget.

Her hurried footsteps left the room and Max began talking.
He didn’t know what he said, but every word felt like the elixir of life. All
hope pinned on every single syllable. Shoes squeaked on vinyl and he glanced up
at the doctor, Bridget hovering behind him, her cheeks flushed and eyes
glimmering with happy anticipation.

The doctor approached the bed, his attention focused on
Bryce.

“I heard he’s been making some noise?”

“Yes. He moaned a couple of times.”

“Anything else since?”

“No.”

The doctor stepped forward and Max eased away. “Good
afternoon, Bryce. I’m just going to check something for you. There’s nothing to
worry about.”

The man lifted the bottom of the sheet to expose Bryce’s
feet. Hand under Bryce’s ankle, the doctor ran a blunt object along the sole.
The toes curled and excitement thundered in Max’s chest.

“That’s a good sign right?”

The doctor glanced at him. “Yes. Good job, Bryce.”

Hope surged and he smiled so hard it hurt his cheeks. He
glanced at Bridget, her hands over her mouth, a glimmer of tears in her eyes.
“He’s waking up,” he said.

“Not so quick there.”

Max cast a querying stare at the doctor. “What?”

“He’s showing signs of waking up, certainly, but you have to
be aware that he’ll slip in and out for a while before he regains a conscious
state.”

“But, he’s going to be all right?”

The doctor hesitated and Max’s shoulders slumped. “We don’t
know the extent of recovery he’ll have until we can fully assess him. Give it
time. Everything takes time.”

Bridget’s warm hand settled over his shoulder, and Max
clasped it, taking comfort in her presence. “What happens now?”

“We’ll have to get an EEG and run some other tests. But he
may not come out for a time yet.”

The following hour was spent watching Bryce go through
several tests. He didn’t make a sound the whole time and anxiety drilled
through Max’s lungs. His gaze was fixated on every nuance in the attending
doctor’s face, hoping to decipher the prognosis.

Finally, after all the tests were done, Max was assured the
signs were all positive. Tension drained away, replaced by the buoyancy of
relief and happiness. In half a daze he wandered toward the entrance,
anticipating that the next time he walked back into the suite he’d find Bryce
sitting up and glad to see him. Fingers brushed his palm and he grasped
Bridget’s offered hand. Brisk wind touched his face as they exited the
hospital, slapping him back into reality. Bridget leaned into him, her hair
brushing his forearm.

He stopped, pulling her into him, his hands hooking together
behind her back. Cool air and her floral scent filled his nostrils. For the
first time in a while, he felt at peace. “Where are you parked?” he asked.

She pulled back to look up at him. “F block.”

He was a bit farther than her. “Come home with me?”

She smiled impishly. “I am going home.”

“You know what I mean,” he whispered against her lips.

He brushed his mouth over hers before taking her in a gentle
kiss filled with reverence. He tasted her passion like rain on his tongue. His
hands skated up her spine to cup the back of her skull. Tendrils of hair
tickled the back of his hand. Slender arms wrapped around his neck and Max
silently damned the jacket that kept a thick layer of fabric between them.

Panting, he pulled from her. “Come home with me.”

Eyelids fluttered open. “Convince me.”

Before he could draw her back into his arms, she pranced
away. Max held out his hands, palms out. “How can I convince you if I can’t
touch you?”

Bridget winked. “You can touch me when you get to my place.”

As she sauntered away, her hips swinging, Max rubbed his
mouth. Damn she had a nice ass. Fishing out his keys, he hurried toward his
car. Too impatient for the elevator he took the stairs and all but sped back to
his house. He caught up to a familiar white car along his street and grinned.
As she pulled into her drive, he pulled into his. He ate up the distance
between them just as she reached her front door. She giggled and he licked at
her earlobe. His dick throbbed with the need to be in her.

The door swung open and he shuffled her in. He searched
blindly for the door and shut it. Encased in darkness, he pushed her against
the wall. Their panting cut through the night and he delved his hand beneath
her blouse, skating his palm along her smooth stomach. Bridget whimpered, her
hot breath touching his lips. Groaning, he kissed her, rapaciously tasting the
passion on her tongue. Through the flimsy lace bra he rolled her nipple,
pressing his hips against hers, pinning her to him. Her arms settled over his
shoulders, her hands in his hair.

Behind his jeans, his cock thrummed with a deep ache only
she could relieve. He rocked into her and silently cursed the pencil skirt that
kept her luscious body from him. Ruthlessly, he clasped the hem and pushed it
up, exposing her smooth, white thighs and plain cotton panties. Damn, he never
thought they were sexy, but looking at them now made him pant with desperate
need. He cupped her through the panties, finding her heat and plying her with a
gentleness he didn’t feel. He wanted to plunge into her and hear her scream.

Bridget parted her legs, her arms quivering as they
tightened around him. Her moans pierced him with sensual needles of torture. In
the darkness, he could barely make her out, the moonlight piercing the night
enough to highlight her pale skin. He wanted to watch her eyes glaze, but
instead satisfied himself with her wet pussy. Shoving aside the fabric, he
thrust two fingers inside. A shudder rocked through his frame even as she
screamed. Through the small tuft of hair he found her clit and circled it with
his thumb. The scent of her sex filled his nostrils and he grunted as nails dug
into the back of his neck. The sting heightened the urgency within him and he
fished out the condom from his back pocket. The packet crackled between his
teeth as he freed his hand to unbutton his jeans. They barely slid below his
ass before he rolled it on.

Her sleek thigh hooked over his hip, the soft skin adding a
new layer of torture. Grasping her ass, he brought her up and buried himself
inside her. Their gasps intermingled, her arms tightening around his neck. Max
stilled, embedded so deep he could feel every quiver of her sweet pussy. They
remained together, still, taken by the sudden shift in what just happened. The
urgency had disappeared and was replaced by…by what? He didn’t know. His heart
thundered and he felt a weird ache in his chest. She brushed her lips over each
eyelid, then down his cheekbone, sparking a warm fire along his skin. Goose
bumps skittered down his back as her lips hovered over his. The unspoken
command he not touch her whispered in the air.

She traced her tongue along his upper lip and he groaned.
Everything went on high alert as she learned the contours of his mouth. She
suckled his lower lip and Max’s fingers clenched over the cotton of her
panties. Damn her. His control could only stand so much. He captured her mouth,
thrusting inside. Hips rocked into her and pleasure seared his cock. Bridget’s
breath hitched and he pushed her against the wall to free up his hands. Pinned
by his hips, he jerked at her blouse. Buttons popped and bounced off the floor.
He pushed aside the lace and cupped her breasts. Angling his head, he captured
one sweet nubbin and rolled it between his teeth, plying his tongue over the
hardened tip as he thrust into her.

Desire took root, enveloping him in sweet fire as she met
his thrust. Her canal tightened around him and she rocked back, her whimpers
turning into moans as she came. The wet sound of their sex made him hot and his
balls tightened. Damn, he wanted to hold out. He brushed his thumb over her
clit, keeping the circles tight and soft. Bridget’s nails bit into his neck and
she screamed. Her breasts bounced in a beautiful display of a woman in the
throes of an orgasm.

Max exhaled through clenched teeth as he plunged ruthlessly
into her. The sharp tingles at the base of his shaft intensified and he ignored
them. He wanted more of her and he’d have it. Fingers tightened over her waist
and he tipped his hips slightly, finding the sweet spot and pounding into her.
Bridget’s eyes widened, her mouth dropping open in sweet surprise. A feral grin
pulled at his lips as he raced toward the wild passion gripping them both.

Blissful flames circled his cock and sluiced down his spine
and he cursed, desperate to hold on to what little control he had. Her sweet
pussy clenched over him, suckled him as she came. Bridget wailed, her features
tight. Max let go, relentlessly seeking his release. It came in a blaze of
white light and erotic fire. His breath was knocked from him by the force of
his orgasm.

The world slowly came back to him, his skin cold from sweat
cooling on his flesh. One of Bridget’s legs slid downward and he held her
steady, keeping her near him. Carefully he eased from her and kissed her
forehead, her nose, then her mouth. A soft, reverent kiss.

The musk scent of their sex filled the night and he inhaled
it as though it was some exotic perfume. Brushing a wet lock of hair from her
face, he stared into her shadowed features. She was everything he didn’t know
he wanted. Thoughts of what lay outside the house threatened to spill forth and
he shut it down.

Bridget cupped his hand that rested over her cheek. She
leaned into his touch and his heart did a weird trip-up. A smile pulled at his
mouth and he brushed his thumb over her kiss-swollen lips. She sucked the digit
into her mouth and Max’s dick surged to life. Damn, he was insatiable with her.

“Stay the night?” she whispered.

“Yeah.”

* * * * *

The notes of a cello filled the air and pulled Max from
sleep. The cadence was low and heavy with the undertones of something sensual.
Max inhaled, eyes firmly shut as he held on to the last vestiges of sleep. The
music slid up several scales, reminding him of fingers dancing up the spine of
a woman. It marched downward again and hovered low. The notes were sensual and
intoxicating, singing softly, imitating a woman’s climb toward release.

Max opened his eyes and found Bridget playing her cello at
the foot of the bed. Naked. Awareness spiked and the air stalled in his lungs.
Damn she looked sexy. The smooth wood pressed over her flesh and breasts moved
with each sway of the bow over the strings. Her thighs pressed over the cello
as if the instrument itself was a man. Holy shit. Max sat upright, pleasure
skimming over his dick. Sheet tucked around his hips, he rested his elbow on
his knees, absorbed in the erotic play of emotion on her face and the sensual
story she told through her cello.