Читать книгу No Stopping Now - Dawn Atkins - Страница 13

IT WASN’T BONDAGE SCHOOL that surprised Brody—he’d expected the place to be decorated like a torture chamber, with displays of menacing devices and all the students in leather and latex and spikes—it was Jillian’s reaction to the place that amazed him.

She was relaxed, as calm and easy as if she were filming a field of wheat, a sunny meadow or a small-town park. She focused on the best angle to view a whipping, the right lighting for black leather, how to capture shiny spikes without glare.

He almost laughed when she shifted furniture and climbed a ladder to get the perfect shot of a paddling. Kirk would never have gone to that much trouble.

She put up with a bunch of Brody’s reshoots without complaint, too, just as she’d promised. When Brody blew off the shot list, instead of going along like Kirk would have done, she’d do the new stuff, then go back to what they’d planned and do that, too. She missed nothing.

He was behaving differently, too. Showing off, for one thing. When the head dominatrix, Mistress Mona, tried out the cat-o’-nine-tails on him, it stung like a bitch, but he’d refused to wince.

Now they were in the bar, which was raking in cash with overpriced liquor. The whole school was a moneymaker with brutal tuition fees and criminally expensive paraphernalia. A hundred bucks for a rubber hood? Come on. All part of the punishment, he guessed.

In the bar, the students and teachers mingled, leather and rubber clothes squeaking, chains clanking. It was like some weird costume party with everyone in black and metal.

Whatever stuffed your jeans, he guessed. Not his thing.

They had tons of footage, but he still had that restless, unfinished feeling, so he motioned JJ over, hoping for some ideas. Between shots, he’d noticed how busy she was, scoping the place, talking to the instructors, the patrons, the bartender.

“I need something more from the Queen of Pain,” he told her, nodding toward Mistress Mona, holding court at the bar. “Any ideas?”

She didn’t miss a beat, just leaned close to talk low in his ear, giving him a delicious blast of her spicy scent. “See the guy in the Girls Gone Wild ball cap at the back table?”

He looked, spotting the guy with his frat-boy buds. They’d stumbled into the place, not knowing what it was, then stuck around to gawk and joke.

“He’s laughing like his friends, but his eyes never leave Mona. I think we should bring her to his table.”

“You don’t miss much, do you?” he asked her.

“I try not to. No.”

“I’ll have to remember that,” he said, thinking about the interviews he’d promised her and all he had to hide.

“I’ll go talk up the college boys,” she said. “You tell Mona.”

He headed for the bar and sat beside the dominatrix. “A minute more of your time, Mistress Mona?”

“Yes?” she purred, pursing bright red lips. Her hair was teased platinum and her eyes were heavy with black gunk—pure drama, but he’d seen she had humor about herself, unlike the students who were hyper about the rules of their sexual roles.

“I think we know someone who could use a touch of your lash,” he said.

“Tell me more,” she said in the German accent that ebbed and flowed. While he explained the plan, he glanced over to see how much more time JJ needed. He was surprised to find her waiting for him, ready, and she’d gotten the frat boys primed, too.

She was fast, moving like smoke, subtle and smooth, never drawing attention to herself, almost invisible, efficient and effortless and always there. She’d even gotten Brian and Bob to pick up the pace. The lights and boom mic were ready, too.

She’d told him she often did her own lights and sound on documentaries because it lessened the intimidation factor. The fewer people and equipment, the more relaxed her subjects were.

He and Mistress Mona moved toward the frat-boy table and JJ signaled she was rolling tape.

Mona loomed over the boys, silencing them, and the kid in question blinked up at her. “I’m not really into all this,” he said, looking utterly enthralled. JJ had been right about him.

“Come on,” Brody coaxed. “We all need the occasional smack on the behind, don’t we, Mistress Mona?”

“You vill gif your mistress respect,” Mistress Mona snapped. “Take off zat ridiculous cap.”

The kid jerked the hat from his head, grinning, his face pink. Oh, he was into this, all right.

“Wipe zat smile off your face.” Mona whipped her crop onto the table so that it slapped his fingers.

The kid stared at his hand, then at Mona, utterly thrilled.

“I’ll leave you two alone.” Brody patted him on the back and stood. “Enjoy. The cat-o’-nine-tails is intense.”

JJ backed up, keeping the camera on Brody as he left the table. She was waiting for his wrap-up. He liked that she’d picked up on their system.

“Whatever polishes your jewels, guys,” he said into the lens, walking slowly enough that JJ and Bob could keep their equipment steady. “You like rubber hoods or get off on wearing pink panties under your Dockers? As long as no one gets hurt—well, sent to the hospital—go for it.”

He needed something else…a final comment.

JJ pointed him toward a student practicing her riding crop moves on a guy’s backside.

“My turn?” Brody said to the girl, then turned and bent over. She smacked him lightly.

“Oooh, the Doctor is in,” he said with a wink, holding his pose until JJ took the camera away from her eye.

“You got what you needed?” he asked her.

“I did. Yes.” Her voice was low and throaty. There was that spark again, flying between them, unexpectedly strong. She felt it, too, he could tell, but backed away fast. He couldn’t figure out if she was scared of it or irritated by the distraction. Interesting…

“We’ve got to move,” Eve said, bustling up, her messenger bag tugging her shoulder down. It amazed him how much junk she hauled around—energy drinks, files, notebooks, forms, batteries, cosmetics, even a flashlight and, for some reason, latex gloves. “They’re waiting for us at the condom factory.”

“I’d like to look over the footage before we go,” JJ said.

“You’ll have to check it in the van,” Eve said. “We don’t have time for a reshoot anyway.”

Why was Eve so bristly with JJ? She was always a steamroller, but she was particularly pushy with JJ. Had Eve picked up on the attraction? Maybe she missed Kirk. The two of them bickered like an old married couple and they talked daily.

At the van, JJ let him help her into the seat, then set up the computer and external drive for a playback, quick and efficient, resting the laptop on both their knees. He liked the slide of her thigh against his own.

Eve sat up front where she could more comfortably boss the driver. Eve made him grin. She had the tenacity of a terrier, a great eye for detail and was utterly competent. Sometimes over the top, but that was part of the package.

He was determined his crew would make a soft landing when he left the show. He’d take care of them all—Eve and Kirk; Brian and Bob; the assistant producers who helped Eve from time to time; Chloe, his editor.

Maybe Doctor Nite would get a new host. His network had done that with that car mechanic show. Talk shows did it all the time. Maybe they’d hardly notice he was gone.

“Brody?”

He drew his attention back to JJ, who nodded at the screen. “Does this B-roll work, do you think?” Never wasting a minute, she’d grabbed charming background shots of bondage students in class while he talked to the instructor. Kirk needed to step it up. He’d been dialing it in as much as Brody had begun to do.

“I’m thinking we could cut this piece—” she shuttled the video further “—and shift to here. Do you agree?”

She sat so close he could smell the strawberry scent of her clear lip gloss. JJ wore little makeup. She didn’t need it, as far as he could see.

“Uh, yes,” he finally said, realizing she was waiting for his reply. “Looks good.”

“I don’t want to push you into shots you don’t want, so tell me to back off when I’m out of line.”

“I’m always up for a better idea. You didn’t mind the multiple takes?”

“Not at all. I want to do this right. Like I said.”

“Yeah.” He paused, lost in her steady, green eyes. “Like you said.”

“So, am I giving you what you need?”

Not yet, but I have some ideas…. He cleared his throat. “You’re doing great.”

“Except that extra interview threw us off,” Eve said, evidently listening in. “We have to keep on schedule or the shoot spirals out of control, JJ.”

“You’re so tough, Eve. Mistress Mona could take lessons,” Brody said, trying to tease away his producer’s edginess.

“What’s the deal with Eve and me?” JJ muttered very low.

“Later,” he said softly, then raised his tone to a conversational level. “So now on to condoms, right? I’ll ask the guy about what’s new—materials, shapes, colors, textures—and find out what’s popular these days.”

“Here’s an idea,” JJ said. “What if we also interview women about the features? Cut back and forth from the factory guy describing the item to the users’ take on the feature.”

“That’s pretty arty for Doctor Nite.” He shook his head in mock disapproval. “But we want to stay fresh, right, Eve?” He leaned forward to involve her in the conversation.

“We’d need samples from the factory. And what women would we use?” Eve asked, then answered her own question, clearly intrigued by the challenge. “Privilege has tons of models. It could work. I just wish you’d think of these things earlier.”

“Come on. You know you love to perform last-minute miracles, Eve.” She’d do anything to make the show better. He winked at JJ, who shot him a thumbs-up.

He liked that. It felt like the old days, when the nutty chaos and crazy energy of location shoots had energized rather than exhausted him. It was all due to JJ—her skill, ideas and liveliness. At the moment, despite how distracting she was, he was glad he’d hired her.

BY THE TIME they pulled into the driveway of the Xanadu at close to midnight, JJ was physically and emotionally wiped out. Physically, her shoulders throbbed from all the handheld work and schlepping her heavy tripod—it had better fluid heads for panning.

Emotionally, she’d been on a roller coaster. Bondage School had been surreal, but she’d maintained her professionalism. The condom factory had been fascinating. Then they’d hit the bars and started on the typical Doctor Nite segments, which had bothered her. She’d shot women pretending to be turned on as they unrolled condoms onto bananas from the bartender’s daiquiri supply or onto Brody’s fingers, while Brody made suggestive remarks. All night, women rubbed against him. Two of them flashed boobs at him, nearby men howling like jackals.

Jillian gritted her teeth the whole time. It was her job to go along with the exploitive, offensive aspects of the show. Hell, she was making the show better. She couldn’t help herself.

She vowed to get in the woman’s view wherever she could. Getting women’s opinions of condoms had been a start. Though each conversation deteriorated into flirting with Brody.

That didn’t surprise her. Despite his offensive on-camera persona, Brody charmed her more and more, adding to her confusion. He seemed untouched by fame. Everywhere they went, people demanded autographs, hugs, handshakes, kisses, sometimes full-body humps, depending on the sex and drunkenness of the fan. Brody remained patient and gracious, smiling at the hero worship, signing his name on whatever he was offered—a sodden napkin, tattered bar menu, a bare back or a naked breast.

Plus, she approved of how he worked. He was demanding, quick to dump a setup for something better, no matter how long it had taken to arrange. That was how she worked, too. He asked for her feedback and retook every shot she had doubts about.

The physical closeness was wearisome, too. Man-woman electricity hummed and snapped constantly. But these moments of mind-reading teamwork were the worst, shooting ever more powerful jolts of attraction straight through her.

Shaky from the emotional whiplash of the day—loving her work and hating it, fighting her attraction to Brody and being drawn deeper into it—Jillian was relieved they were done for the night. A tension headache raged behind her eyes.

Brody led the way into the crowded lobby of the Xanadu, decorated everywhere with patriotic-hued bunting in honor of the political convention being held there, and Jillian couldn’t wait to get upstairs and fall into bed.

“I see more condom opinions dead ahead,” Brody said, motioning toward the lobby bar, packed with people wearing convention name tags. He turned to her, took in her face and hesitated. “Unless you’re too tired?”

“Of course not.” JJ managed a smile, determined to be a trouper. “Lead the way.” She hefted her camera onto her shoulder and followed Brody to a table of four women who turned out to be just tipsy enough to say yes to interviews.

Brian and Bob set up lights and sound while Eve nabbed releases, and in minutes they were rolling.

“Condoms prevent disease and pregnancy. Period,” a blonde in glasses said. “They’re like brushing your teeth to prevent cavities. A necessary pain in the ass.”

“What’s with the ribs and colors?” added a brunette in a chignon. “You can’t feel those teensy bumps and who cares what color it is?”

“And the flavored ones? Forget it,” added a black woman with cornrows, shaking her head so the beads rattled. “They taste like the rubber dams my dentist uses.”

“Plus, they’re like thirty calories each,” added a rail-thin redhead.

“No!” said the blonde. “Not thirty? Aren’t they sugarless?”

“Don’t get fancy, I say,” declared the redhead. “Just make them with no holes. Functional. And, for God’s sake, men, practice. The fumbling has got to go.”

They wrapped the shoot, which she’d enjoyed despite her headache, and the crew disappeared. She noticed one of the women slipping Brody a business card with what looked like a room number on it. Ah, her cue to escape. She was relieved, since she’d planned to ask Brody for an interview after the shoot, but was entirely too tired to try for it. Now it was impossible.

“I’ll head upstairs,” she said, backing away.

“Me, too,” Brody said, half-rising, as if he were leaving, but the women made disappointed noises and she knew they’d keep him longer.

At the gift shop, Jillian had to wait for the sleepy clerk to find her an aspirin packet she could buy, but finally she was in the elevator, relieved to be away from Brody and her growing attraction to the man.

It was ridiculous, she told herself. The man was probably a sociopath. Certainly his TV character was, treating women like enemies to be conquered, sex objects to be preyed upon. The show’s message was “Screw anything in skirts, then run like hell.” She hated that attitude. Meanwhile, she kept reliving the pleasure of his eyes on hers, his hand at her back, his thigh rubbing against hers in the van. What a girl she was.

On her floor, she took the wrong corridor first, but finally found the arrow to her hall. Just around the bend was blessed peace. She would take the aspirin, stretch out with some dull talk show and drift to dreamless sleep.

Except when she turned the corner, there was Brody again, leaning on her door, watching for her, a big grin on his face. He was such a male animal, strong and relaxed against the door, jeans low on his hips, easy in his skin, confident his body would do whatever he asked of it.

Whatever she asked of it. Her weary body went on full alert and she felt tight and wet in a secret place.

Stop that right now, she commanded, as if she could control her body’s fluids and flows and reflexes.

When she got closer, she saw Brody had four liquor miniatures between his fingers and a DVD case under his arm. “What’s up?” she asked, trying to smile in welcome.

“I thought we’d toast the shoot and check out the footage.”

“How’d you get here so fast?”

“I left when you left.” He nodded at the aspirin bottle. “You have a headache?”

“A bit of one, yes.”

“That my fault? I work you too hard?”

“Of course not. It’s my sinuses. Hotel air is so dry.” She had to lie. No way could she let him know she was exhausted on her first shoot. “I thought you’d be busy. I saw that woman give you her room number.”

“Not brainless enough for me.” He grinned at her, his expression almost fond. She realized this was a perfect chance to get to know the man behind the persona, maybe get that interview. That was her reason for being here, after all.

“I’d love to,” she said, steadying herself against the tingles and heat of her body’s response to the man. “You want to watch that?” She nodded at the DVD under his arm.

“Nah. I’ve got to drop this off with a guy on your floor. It’s a favor for Kirk. When he calls I’ll take it over.”

She waved him into her room, which had been neatened by the maid, scanning for anything she didn’t want him to see. The bathroom mirror reflected her black bra on a hook from when she’d hand-washed it. Whoops. She hurried to snatch it down.

“Black lace…nice,” he said.

“Not that it’s any of your business.”

“I’m interested. Curious. Aren’t you a curious person? Being a documentary filmmaker and all? Don’t you have to be nosy?”

“Yes, actually, I am a curious person.” All her life she’d asked questions of everyone about everything. Her parents, especially her father, used to complain about her nonstop demands for answers. Which made sense, since he had all those affairs to hide. The last thing he wanted to do was say where he’d been and what he’d been doing.

“What is it?” Brody asked, leaning toward her.

“Just thinking,” she said, wishing he weren’t so observant.

“You’re always analyzing. Figuring the angles, working things through in your mind.”

“No more than most people, I don’t think.”

He just looked at her, telling her that she wasn’t like most people and that he liked that about her. She felt warm all over, almost girlish. Ridiculous.

He studied her—hair, face, body—lingering over each feature as if she were a shiny toy he wanted to take apart and put together. Then he smiled, pleased with what he’d discovered.

“So, what will you have, miss?” He laid the small bottles against the back of his forearm like a sommelier presenting a wine for her approval.