Playing the Part (5 page)

Chapter Four

The book was fucking awesome.

So awesome that Mick wasn’t sure how long his visitor had been banging on his front door, but from the urgency resounding in each thud, he figured it had been a while. He’d left Piper’s place the night before, thoroughly satiated and completely intrigued by the woman. Since he wasn’t needed on set until tomorrow, he’d spent the day immersed in
Regan’s Gift
. He glanced at his watch and noted the late hour, figuring his guest was Lincoln, ready for a little PlayStation after a long day in his home music studio.

When he opened the door, he saw not Lincoln, but Lewis King—his business manager. He hesitated to call him a friend because Mick never doubted that Lewis would be a distant memory if his status as cash cow ever changed—in Hollywood, everything was business.

“I need a drink.” Lewis pushed his way inside without an invitation and headed straight for the bar. Mick followed him through the house, stopping when they arrived at the kitchen. He leaned against the doorway as Lewis helped himself to a cold soda out of the refrigerator, frowning at the can. “Would it kill you to have some beer around this place? Or a decent whiskey?”

“Lincoln is a recovered addict, and this is his home. I respect his struggle with sobriety. You know this.” Mick stole a look at the discarded book on his sofa and crossed his arms over his chest in an effort to send the “feel free to leave anytime” vibe. “What’s going on?”

“I’ve been trying to call you all night, but you’ve either been ignoring my calls or you have your phone turned off again.”

“I was ignoring you.” His phone had beeped several times over the course of the evening, but he hadn’t wanted to take Lewis’s calls—not tonight. Lewis was being a pain in the ass about Mick’s wrangling with the studio to do more dramatic parts, and Mick was tired of the argument. Lewis walked over, his expensive Italian leather shoes barely making a sound on the tile before he lowered his short, husky frame into a chair.

“Mick. I think it’s great you’re focusing on this whole ‘dramatic movie thing.’” Lewis made those stupid air quotes Mick hated. “But your latest John Dark movie is premiering in six weeks, and the studio is beginning to comment on how often you’re
not
in the papers lately.” Lewis grabbed his phone and started tapping on the screen. “We have to set up your calendar. I have a list of women the studio would like to see you out with, plus a list of venues.”

Mick returned to his seat, making no effort to stifle the resigned sigh that slid past his lips. “Fine, Lewis. Set it up. You didn’t have to come all the over here to bust my balls about publicity. You tell me when and where, and I’ll be there.”

Lewis looked up from the phone. “I don’t understand you. John Dark has been a gold mine
.
Your name is on every ‘A-list’ in town, you make enough money to place you on the Forbes Top Ten list, and no one minds if you fuck your way through every woman in town. It all fits in with your image and makes you more money. I don’t see the problem.”

Oh shit. Here we go again.
“Lewis, I just told you to set it up. What’s the problem?”

“The problem is that you’re jeopardizing everything we’ve built for these crazy side projects only Oprah fans are going to want to watch.” Lewis leaned forward in the chair, eyes intense. “They aren’t exactly your demographic.”

“The problem—” Mick gritted his teeth and tamped down the urge to throttle the man. They’d talked about this so many times he now wished he’d made a damn video so he could hit “play” and walk away from this dead-end conversation. “The problem is that the studio wants me to make so
many
John Dark movies that I couldn’t fit in anything else. I’ve done eight movies for them and made them a shit-load of money. I’m the first biracial actor to carry an entire franchise. Now it’s time for them to allow me to slow down and pick other projects.”

“They let you do this romance movie thing, and look how that’s turning out. I got a call from Charlie Nelson, and he says he had to bring the author on set to help you out.” Lewis snorted and shook his head. “Like some grandma from butt-lick Iowa is going to be able to do anything.”

Mick bristled. He was normally a thriller reader, but Piper’s book had sucked him in at the first page. She was really good.

And she was hot.

And an amazing lay.

“Well, if this is what a grandma looks like, I think I’m expanding my age limit to the AARP crowd.” Mick picked up Piper’s book and flipped it over so Lewis could see the picture that still made his groin ache. It didn’t even do justice to how full Piper’s lips were or how the sexy dip between her breasts invited his tongue to lick.

Lewis’s eyes popped open. “Whoa. She’s fucking hot.”

“Yeah.”

“You should take her out. Get your photos plastered all over the celebrity magazines. I’ll call her people. The studio will eat that shit up.” Lewis scrolled through his smartphone.

“I’m not sure she’d go for it,” Mick said, remembering Piper’s concern about the paparazzi when they’d been at the restaurant. He’d have to feel out her reaction to an organized media opp. “We’ve got that new club opening coming up. If she’s up for it, she could go with me. It would create awesome buzz.”

“Great idea.” Lewis continued to tap the keys on his phone, barely sparing Mick a glance as he did what he did best—making Mick a shitload of money. “Hell, you can even fuck her if you want. The pictures with the ones you’ve slept with are always better.”

Oh, Mick planned on sleeping with Piper again, but he damn well wasn’t going to talk about it with Lewis.

His manager paused and squinted at the book cover again. “She looks familiar. Does she live in LA?”

“No. New York.”

“She ever act?”

“That I doubt.” Mick stretched his long legs out on the ottoman. “All I know is that she writes a damn good book. I understand why Hollywood snapped up the film rights. Most of the movie script dialogue comes straight from the book. Those scriptwriters got off so easy on this one.”

“I
know
I know her from somewhere. Did she ever date an actor?”

“I have no idea.”

“You need to start reading
People
. It’s crazy all the stuff you don’t know about this industry.”

“I pay you to tell me everything I need to know.”

“And to get you in front of the cameras.”

Mick nodded. “And Ms. James provides a prime media opportunity. You’ll need to get together with Jack and work out the details with the studio.” Jack Mullins, his lawyer and good friend, would kill him for sending Lewis his way—the man irritated his friend to no end—but Mick knew Jack would get Lewis in line on the negotiations.

He stood up, motioning for his visitor to follow him to the door, then finished the conversation along the way, Lewis tailing behind him, still focused on his phone. “My best leverage with the studio is me—the Mick Blackwell franchise is worth millions to them, and I need to go into this deal at the absolute top of my game. You do whatever you need to do to in terms of promotions to make that happen. You read me?”

“Whatever it takes?”

Shoving the front door open, Mick gestured for Lewis to exit. “Whatever it takes.”

“Fine. But I don’t want to hear you bitch about my methods.” Lewis shoved a finger at him to emphasize his point. “The premiere for the latest John Dark movie is coming up. Get your head in the game.”

“I’m getting tired of jumping around like a monkey for these people. John Dark isn’t all that I am.”

“Although it is who they pay you to be.” Lewis cocked his head, his expression confused. “You’ve been in this business since you were a kid. You know how it is. They only want what they can sell. If they can’t do that, then you’re nothing.”

Lewis was right, and Mick hated him for it. At the ripe old age of twenty-nine, he’d spent twenty-three years of his life in front of a camera—being whoever it was they paid him to be.

He closed the door, the force of it just short of a slam, then made his way back to the couch, where he flopped down with a heavy thud. He grabbed the book off the table, opened it back to where he’d left off, but just as quickly shut it again. Frustration and anger heated his skin, the hint of a headache flickering on the edges of his vision. Those long days—weeks of long days—spent working his ass off on this movie were starting to get to him.

Mick didn’t have to read the trade magazines to know what people were saying about his desire to branch out into more dramatic parts. His was his father’s son, and many wondered if he could step out from the shadow of a man who had two Oscars. Mick had inked the deal in spite of Hollywood’s open skepticism, giving the big “fuck you” to all the haters. Even now, and even with the setbacks, he still wasn’t ready to give up. The John Dark movies were only one facet of all he had to offer. Acting was part of his DNA, the desire to perform meshed into his genetic code and forming a need so strong it felt like the key to his soul.

He’d nail this part.

He’d prove them wrong.

And then he’d be whoever the fuck he wanted to be.

Chapter Five

“Oh my God. Are all actors so difficult?” Piper asked, dragging Mick by the arm across the vacant soundstage to the set of Regan’s kitchen, where they’d first met. Their consultation session had been a joke so far. She didn’t know how to tell him how to act, and when he tried to explain his process, it sounded like he was speaking a foreign language. Frustrated and tired, she decided that being in the exact spot where he had to pull off this scene might help.

It sure as hell couldn’t hurt.

“I’m not difficult, I just don’t know how you can write such deep characters and yet your best advice is ‘ask Lincoln about being in love.’”

Piper dropped her copy of her book and the script onto the kitchen island and turned to face off with the most stubborn man she’d ever met. “I didn’t ask you to have a group hug and cry about it. You said he’s been in love before. I suggested you ask him to give you a guy’s point of view.”

“That’s not going to happen.” Mick plopped down in one of the kitchen chairs, throwing his feet onto the seat opposite as he leaned back. “Linc and I talk about sex. Not feelings.”

“Fine. I have offended your macho sensibilities by even suggesting it, so let’s try Plan B.”

“Holy shit. Was talking to Linc about feelings Plan A?” Mick asked, making no effort to hide his laughter. “I am so screwed.”

“Shut up.” Piper grabbed the script off the counter and turned to the scene he had to shoot tomorrow. “Okay, so the big love scene takes place here in the kitchen, and I thought I could walk you through how I saw it in my head when I was writing it. We could even rehearse. Maybe that would help.”

He stared at her, considering her suggestion before nodding his head and jumping to his feet. “Now,
that
sounds like a Plan A. Where do you want me?”

“Let’s set the scene first and then we can rehearse.”

“Sounds good.”

She walked the length of the countertop and came around to the huge wooden butcher block that stood in the middle, serving as a kitchen island. She closed her eyes. The set was so accurate it was easy to go back to that place in her little office when she’d gone into that blissful trance and written this scene, not even aware she was crying until she stopped and found her cheeks were wet.

“Regan—divorced and ready to embrace her freedom—has come back to the house where she grew up to figure out her next move. Carefree and reckless, she’s attracted to Chance and wants to do something about it.”

She turned and found Mick four or five paces behind her, soaking in every word.

“Chance is more careful, solid,” he said, continuing the story. “He wants to stay here and work the land, raise horses. It’s his life, but he wants Regan. They need each other like air—and as impossible as it is to reconcile their futures, they burn up the here and now. It’s physical, elemental.”

Mick stepped forward, keeping his eyes locked on hers, stopping close enough to touch but far enough apart for her to ache over the distance.

She frowned, her brow furrowed. “That’s a line from the book. It’s not in the screenplay.”

He grinned. “I finished the book last night. Loved it. You’re an amazing writer.”

Pleasure rushed over her. “I’m glad you like my book.” She knew her voice betrayed her delight at his words, but she didn’t care. The genuine admiration in his tone had lit up a part inside of her that had been dark for a while. She pushed it down, unwilling to take it too seriously right now.

“It was fantastic,” he said, then licked his lower lip, making his mouth all the more kissable. “I’d love to get in your head and find out everything I can about Chance.”

Oh God. She wanted him now. Here. On the set. “Stop that. It’s distracting. Talk to me about Chance. What else do you know about this scene?”

“They come into this scene laughing from an evening spent with friends on the porch. And they dance together—the first time they’ve actually touched.” He pulled out his phone and suddenly a slow, sexy tune spilled out, filling the space with the perfect atmosphere. He placed the phone on the counter and extended a hand to her. “Dance with me.”

Her pulse sped up, the combination of the scene unfolding before her eyes and Mick’s presence exciting her. He tugged, and she came willingly, following him as he took them through the steps. Mick could actually dance—the kind of dancing they taught in professional schools—so it took some concentration to loosen her limbs and let him lead. The song ended and immediately spilled into another with the same sensual cadence—filling the empty space with nothing but the notes and their breathing.

Mick spun her out, catching her off guard, then pulling a happy laugh from her when he twirled her back in. Just like Chance had done with Regan. Resting against his chest, she knew he was the one to play Chance. Unexpected but solid, strong but tender—those things were all Mick as well. Some things were buried underneath the Hollywood image, but they were there if one looked hard enough.

“What are you waiting for?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Regan kisses Chance. Lays one on him that is so powerful he takes her against his better judgment. He is nothing but wanting and needing at that point. He’d kill anyone that tried to get between them at that moment.”

Piper went breathless. He’d nailed exactly what she’d tried to convey. She raised her arms, fingers skimming the hard expanse of his chest to weave around his neck and pull his mouth closer to her own.

“So, Piper…” Mick’s eyes darkened. He dug his fingers into her hips as he dragged her close enough to grind his erection against her belly. “Can you make me want you like that?”

Hell, yes she could. Or die trying.

Piper pulled his head down until she could claim his mouth. Just like the story, there was only sweet seduction, only a teasing of tongues and lips. They swayed together like that for a while, lips coaxing response, arms tight around bodies softened by desire.

Mick teased a kiss along her brow and asked, “Why did you write this scene? What made you have to put it down on the page?”

“You really want to know?”

“Of course I do.”

“Is this for research? For the part?”

He pulled her closer, twisting a curl around his fingers, and bringing her head to rest against his chest. “It’s not all about the part. These characters, what they are feeling, had to come from somewhere inside you. I wonder why you had to get them down on paper. I’m fascinated by your creative process.”

Piper had been asked the same question in a million different interviews, and she’d always had a perfectly prepared answer—fully vetted by the publisher’s PR team—to give people. But tonight, in Regan’s kitchen and in Mick’s arm, she wanted to tell the truth.

“This story is all about acceptance. Acceptance from others. Accepting yourself.”

She let her mind go back to the day she’d first started writing this book. “After college, I’d come to a place where I had to stand on my own two feet. My parents, they didn’t want me to fail, but I wasn’t doing what they wanted, so they weren’t eager to help.” She eased back a little in his arms, tracing the buttons on the long-sleeved shirt he had thrown over his black T-shirt. Mick gave her the room she needed but kept her close, dancing in slow motion around the room.

“What did they want you to do?”

“Go into academia, like them. They’re both college professors, and I have a degree in English.”

“But you’d wanted to move to New York and become an author.”

Piper looked at him in surprise, eyebrow raised.

“I did my homework,” Mick said, grinning. “I’m more than a pretty face.”

“Apparently.” Piper laughed, leaning up to press a kiss to his smiling mouth. “But, no, they didn’t want me to go to New York and write. They hated Antonio and the whole celebrity scene even before he screwed me over. Their crowd lives quietly and doesn’t read, much less write, tacky romance novels.”

“But people love your books. You make them happy.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m still their dirty little not-so-secret with their colleagues.”

He shook his head, nodding in agreement. “My dad was like that about the Dark movies. He thought I was wasting my training and talent on such commercial films. Forget about the movies
he
made when he started in the business. Two Oscars erased all of that from the record.”

Piper was surprised by his disclosure. His dad had always been publicly supportive of Mick’s career, but it appeared that family dynamic was the same whether you were in Georgia or Hollywood.

“Then you
know
what this book is all about. Regan needs to accept herself and her mistakes or she can’t move on and be with Chance.” She twined her arms around his neck and held on as he spun them around on the floor. “Chance can’t accept that anyone would want to be with a guy like him. He’s an ex-con and is trying to figure out who he is as he starts a life away from the gang he ran with before.”

“It seems to me like they’re both playing the part they think everyone expects them to be.”

“Exactly.”

“I get that.” He paused, clearly thinking about what he was going to say. “I grew up either acting on screen or acting like the kid everyone expected me to be. I was in my twenties before I figured out the difference, and that neither of those people were me.”

“But you did.”

Mick reached up to smooth her hair back from her face, smiling down with a sweet smile that was new. She usually loved his sexy, cocky grin best, but this one was running a close second.

“I did. And fared better than many of the child stars I grew up with. I was okay with me once I figured out who that was.”

“Well, Chance and Regan? During this scene they realize they are the ones who will accept them for who they really are. If they can get past their fear and baggage, they could be happy.”

“I’ll have to work on that part.” Mick shook his head. “I don’t believe in that kind of happy.”

The music ended. Mick released her, and they stood in the hush of the set, their breaths slow and in time with the other. There was a peace here, an easy camaraderie she recognized as something special. They’d clicked from the beginning, and after this conversation she now knew why.

“That’s why you get paid the big bucks. To pretend that you do,” she said.

Mick leaned down and kissed her—soft, sweet, and seductive. “Can I come home with you?” he asked. “I’m tired of pretending for today.”

“Are you saying that you’re the real Mick Blackwell with me?”

“As real as I’m ever going to get.”

If that were true, then all Mick needed to do was show a little of that guy on screen tomorrow and he would nail the part. Tonight she’d realized one thing—Chance existed way beyond the words she wrote on a page because Mick was the living and breathing incarnation of her character.

Mick Blackwell wasn’t just an actor—he was a damn romance hero.