Brielle Smith

Immediately Ben said cut, I opened my eyes and raced out of the bed...his bed, away from the camera crew and faced the hallway of Dylan's house, ignoring them as they went over our scene for errors. There shouldn't even be, because I could not—and I meant ever—go over that strain on my body again.

We were filming in the apartment that was hired for Dylan's stay in Miami for as long as he'd need to work on Wild Reverence.

I didn't know where his bathroom was in this condo, so I stopped to scan it. When I took a step towards a passage, I met him bent over a washstand.

"I'm so sorry, shit," I muttered and immediately found my way back, but he called out my name softly. He was shirtless and there wasn't any cameras, so I didn't need to be there. But I turned around and came back.

"Are you lost?" He sounded like Cullen. I didn't want him to sound like Cullen. "What do you need?"

I needed his picture out of my head. I needed the thought of him undressing me out of my freaking mind. "I wanted to use the bathroom," I said with a frail tone, looking at Dylan's gorgeous skin that seemed transparent.

I wasn't thinking right. I wasn't acting right if I was going to keep stuttering and looking away from his piercing blue eyes like a loser. What had I even agreed to three days ago?

When Ben had slammed the script in my hand, I should have nodded my fucking head and told him I was too young and unprofessional for Ashley's role or come up with something better, but my ambition, Camila's positivity and Alec's drive had found a way to ruin me.

Now, I was staring at a man I could worship, cross his arms and legs, boring me a look that was equally majestic. This had been our first scene together and it so far had been my most intense and most difficult. But he looked to be holding up just fine. I mean, look at him all relaxed and proud of his work.

"You look worried."

I swooshed and brushed my hair back. "I am worried, though I'm also having a good time."

He raised a brow and then hopped onto the marble platform that held the washstand, showing me the Roman numeral tattoos of thirteen and twelve on the side of his right and left arm. "Tell me, Brielle, what's bothering you."

The scenes with him. "I'm new to being the protagonist, so yeah."

"It'll come to you, it came to me too and I didn't realize it until I'd started receiving call all over for scenes and roles."

I adored how he spoke in a laid back way. He seemed too professional to be acting with a learner like myself. "Do you mind me asking something?"

"Anything."

"How did you get so good?" I wanted to learn from him a little. He could help with my anxiety for eyes and a certain man hovering my naked body.

"Well? I made a resolve to fit into any role. This may sound funny because I've only ever been in this genre, but I didn't want to stick to just it. I trained by emotions and then focused on the bigger question."

"Which is?"

"What would my character do?" He stated the question and rubbed his jaw. "Take for example; what would Cullen Wesley do if Ashley Grant, in her vulnerable state, asked him to fuck her?"

I froze. He just used the f-word with me and continued talking without realizing the impact it had made on my body—that vibrating feeling that made me want to bite my lip. Was it my ovulation period?

Dylan was still explaining, eyes not leaving mine and subtly demanding me not to take mine off too, "Dylan Walker may not even touch her dress until he was sure she was lucid enough to want it, but Cullen Wesley may be the type of guy that enjoys the thrill of vulnerability. He might just want to see a little something, or do a little something, or touch a little something. So you don't ask yourself what you'd do in place of your character, instead, you ask yourself what your character would do with the kind of personality they've been given."

At this moment in time, I'd reached cloud nine and beyond. He'd only said those words, but I'd visualized them and wished there was a point in the script where he was supposed to actually touch me just a little.

I wanted to feel those strong arms around me just for a second. Curiosity had replaced tension now and my sex throbbed. "Ashley Grant would show up at a bar after a break up and get drunk, Brielle Smith will probably not leave her covers for the next eleven months."

Dylan burst out laughing...at my joke. I was delighted for that impact. He wasn't the only one allowed to make impact. "You mentioned something earlier, so what's been interesting about filming with Ben, the whole crew, me?"

Nothing so far. If he'd asked what was intense about it, I might have had a truthful answer to give. "I don't know," I said and managed to look at those intense eyes again. It always felt like a demand was locked behind them. "Working with you has been interesting. The way you let it flow, I watch you and try to imitate that."

Lies. All lies. There hadn't been a time since he attacked my assaulter on set that I felt working with him would be interesting. Try; getting me horny—which wasn't interesting because I didn't have any way to relieve myself.

"You don't say." He laughed, showing me nice set of teeth. "Well, that makes it a mutual feeling. You're great at what you do."

I faked an appreciative laugh. "Pardon me if I'm stiff sometimes, I've never had to be..." I trailed off. I'd never had to be intimate with a character or co-actor.

"I may be an unobservant person to not have noticed that." Licking his lip, he shrugged. "Trust me, they made a right choice giving you this. And I meant it when I said I was enjoying the journey already."

He made me smile for real, but I couldn't continue chatting with him with my bladder this full and ready to pour out all the water I had drank in Summit, all in the name of vodka.

I pointed outside the bathroom. "Excuse me please, is there another toilet I can use."

"Shit, sorry." He jumped off the counter and stopped when he got beside me. He lowered himself to my short frame and whispered warm air and tasteful words into my ears, "My shirt looks so damn good on you, it's making me forget that you're almost naked underneath."

He stomped away.

That wasn't Cullen, that was Dylan. Or was it? The man was confusing me to the extent of losing focus.

Why was he even still shirtless, the scene had been over for a while, plenty of time to get into something that wouldn't blow an amateur like me into a turmoil of female hormones.

As I locked the door to be alone, I heard my phone ringing beside it. I opened and saw Dylan's tattooed hand offering me the phone. Without realizing that I could have locked his hand into the frame when I did it fast, I glanced at my sisters name and answered the phone.

"Oh, Christ. I didn't expect you to pick up. I'm glad you did."

"What's happening?" I asked her, placing myself on the toilet.

"I nearly passed out in the house a while ago. Thank goodness I was on the phone with Josh. We're at the hospital—"

"Are you okay?" I head swelled and I held my pee. "What's wrong with you."

"I'm pregnant, Bri. Seven weeks."

"Is that good or bad news?" I asked. She'd never told me if she was ready to have children. Her situation even reminded me of Cullen's reaction to Natasha's news on set. "Is Josh ready?"

"Oh well, he can't force me not to keep it if he's not ready, but he seems happy—"

The knock at the toilet door distracted me from Camila's voice.

"Who's there?" I lifted my head from the floor to the banging door.

"It's Ben. We'll be filming in five minutes."

"I'll be out soon," I said and immediately told Camilla that I'd talk to her much later, probably after the morning-after-Cullen's-nice-gesture scene. "I'm about to start filming, let me know if you're discharged from the hospital so I know where to come when I'm done."

"Of course, have fun and do not dare worry about me, I'm fine."

The line disconnected before I could say goodbye and I squeezed my phone in my palm. Why had Josh and my sister's relationship started feeling like Cullen and Natasha's to me?

Whatever I was going to do here, under the umbrella of Wild Reverence, I had to make a conscious effort to not let it spill into my real life. Reality and fiction had no business being buddies.