Stained Glass Shards

23.

I can never look at a piece of lace again without thinking of the first time he bound me. It had started so innocently. He held my wrists above my head as he kissed and lapped at my breasts. I writhed underneath him as he tugged my hardened nipple with his teeth. The pleasurable pain elicited cries of supplication. More. His quick order—Stay!—mentally bound my hands where he wanted them. Tucker eyed the long piece of white lace ribbon from a birthday bouquet my sister had sent. He held it, his eyes asking me if I dared to be fastened to the bed. His lascivious grin told many tales of how he would enjoy me as I lay incapable of escape, accepting all he had to give and giving in to his fantasies. And I nodded, not having moved an inch since his order, my hands at the ready as he secured my arms with the lace.

--Iliana Gardner, Stained Glass Shards

GRIFFIN

If it was hard the second time I was thrown away by her, the third time was worse because there was someone else. But when I kissed her chastely, she didn't push me away. There was still something there between us, albeit hurt and exasperated.

I'd always maddened her. And lately, she'd incensed me.

The several hours we'd spent together reminded me of what I loved—and abhorred—about her. She was quick to judge me, making me the villain.

In Hollywood, I was always seen as the hero, never the rogue. But in her book, I could do nothing right.

Then why do I bother?

Because the thought of seeing her with someone else blistered my soul. She'd looked happy with Ritter at Ladmore. They sat comfortably close, but far enough apart for the sake of discretion.

How were they when they made love?

I pictured it being fiery. And it made me sick to my stomach. I wanted to hurt him, but he was innocent in all of this.

So was she.

She deserved something good. What she'd once demanded from me was not feasible, even now. I'd worked too hard. Boston was too far from LA and New York was best for theater, which I had no desire to do.

A move to LA was not in her plans, either. She was setting herself up perfectly, writing during the day and taking care of her man at night.

For Ritter.

But is that what he wanted? She professed that he made no promises, and I could tell he was comfortable with the same casual arrangement she and I had shared. He was a lucky man to keep his business in New York while she pined for him in Boston. Yet she would make that move for him if he asked.

Would he ask her soon?

If ever?

And the if had yet to be determined.

Sitting in my car with the engine humming softly, I placed a call to my manager.

"Yeah, are you getting ready to go back to Vancouver?" Soren asked.

"Yes. How many days of shooting have they scheduled?" I asked, tapping my fingers on my restless leg.

"A week with some reshoots."

I groaned, running my fingers through my hair. I didn't want to spend that much time up north, so far away from her. I gripped the strands, tugging hard to feel physical pain somewhere other than my heart.

"What about the contract for Stained Glass Shards?" I asked.

"Your agent is almost there with negotiations. The buzz on the film is insane. He's requesting a percentage of box office earnings."

"I don't care, man."

"Uh, since when?" He shouted incredulously.

"Since I lost the girl."

"The writer?"

"Yeah. I'm going to warn you. I'm not planning on sitting on my ass with this." I warned, peeling out of the parking lot. The rumble of the engine mimicked the anger churning in my chest.

"Well, you already have the ball rolling."

"I was hoping I'd convince her to return to me, but she is more stubborn than I've ever known her to be."

"Do you honestly think your plan will help?"

"I have no choice. I'm calling Chet."

"I hope this works out for you." His voice was sincere.

Me too.

We hung up, and I called my attorney, activating Plan B.