The shoot resumed, lights flashing, cameras rolling, and the crew focused entirely on capturing every perfect angle. I stayed professional, giving my all to the work, but every time Henry moved close—adjusting my posture, fixing the lighting, or handing me props—there was a spark I couldn’t ignore.
During another brief pause, we returned to our seats, side by side at the table with co-workers, pretending to sip water and chat casually. Underneath, Henry’s fingers found mine again, this time brushing lightly across the back of my hand. I quickly shifted, tugging my hand free, but the glint in his eyes told me he knew exactly how much control he had over me.
“Why are you so stiff?” he whispered under the table, close enough for only me to hear. His voice was low, teasing.
“I’m… concentrating,” I murmured back, trying to keep it casual.
His fingers grazed my thigh again, more daring this time, and I suppressed a shiver, leaning slightly away without making it obvious to anyone else. “Henry…” I whispered, a warning tone in my voice, though my chest betrayed my racing heart.
He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against my ear. “You’re impossible,” he said, letting his hand retreat slowly, but not completely leaving me alone. The subtle contact lingered like a whisper, a promise, teasing the boundary between us.
We went back to work, all smiles and professionalism on the surface, but the undercurrent of heat beneath the table was impossible to ignore. Every glance, every small movement, every accidental brush of skin kept the tension alive, like a fire smoldering just out of sight.
Even in a room full of people, it was just the two of us—trapped in a quiet, private game of teasing and restraint.
CZYTASZ
Between Scripts and Heartbeats
RomansAt twenty, I never planned on fame, let alone working alongside one of the most famous actors in the industry-a man fifteen years older than me, widowed, and raising two mischievous boys on his own. I was stubborn, sarcastic, and too proud to admit...
