Chapter 3

I awoke.

Night had fallen. I hadn't slept this soundly in ages. Someone had mysteriously covered me with a blanket and cleared away the food and wine.

I spied my phone and saw thirty plus missed calls and texts, mostly from Kim. I needed to get back downtown. Elation filled me as I realized I would return with an awesome treatment for the video and a shiny new song.

I retraced my steps and tiptoed out to the moonlit beach with my stilettos hanging from my fingers. Beach houses hugged the coast, receding into the darkness like a Milky Way of compliant stars. Chilly wind whipped through my hair.

Thankfully, the glass door was open. I slipped inside like a prowler. The house was bathed in shadow and moonlight. It felt eerily hollow and quiet. Where was Ian?

I crept into the guest bathroom and called a car service while I peed. Next to the sink, tiny shell soaps were piled in a dish like candy. I reached for a peachy soap and popped it onto my bag. I crept out to the hall.

"Do you agree to my terms?" asked a voice from the dimness.

"Your terms?" I asked.

"The video concept? And the money shot?"

He was shirtless, wearing only charcoal grey pajama bottoms and was smiling like the Cheshire Cat. His smooth skin ran over supple chest muscles and his hair was ruffled like he'd been asleep. I resisted the urge to run my fingers through it.

"Why are you talking to me like a gangster in one of your films? You don't need to play hard ball with me," I said.

"I don't?" he asked.

"No. We aren't negotiating hostages. It's a video," I said. "Just ask nicely."

"Okay. In that case, can we make video together?" he asked.

"I'm still thinking about it." I answered, though I'd already made up my mind.

"Think it over here," he offered. "Stay the night."

"I have to get back to town," I whispered. I wanted to say yes. I knew I shouldn't.

"My driver will take you home," he insisted.

"I already called a car," I said.

"You didn't need to call a car."

"But I did," I said.

"Cancel it," he said.

"No," I replied.

"Did you write a song down there?" he asked as he moved closer to me.

"I wrote an entire song," I replied, backing up to the wall.

"It was the sirens," he said. "You heard them didn't you?"

"The what?" I asked, swallowing hard. He drew closer.

"My sea sirens," he said speaking into my ear. He smelled like the ocean, spicy smoke and wood. "They whisper to me when I write. The sirens inspire me, my work. Had a feeling you'd hear them too."

"I heard something. I wrote a really beautiful song tonight," I admitted while holding myself back against the wall but feeling every inch of him.

"Maybe I had something to do with it," he offered. He placed his hand on my shoulder, lightly stroking the length of my arm and giving me goose shivers. "Maybe I inspire you like you inspire me?"

"You may have had everything to do with it, I admitted, my voice lost in the recess of my throat. "But maybe it was those sirens."

"They told me to reach out to you, to work with you. They knew we would be good together," he insisted.

He reached down and I felt him on the inside of my knee. Slowly, he moved his fingers up as he spoke. "Will you let me do something?" he asked.

"What is that?" I asked, as my legs became jelly.

"For the video. Research. Let me play your body like you play your guitar. Let me caress you? Like this," his fingers stroked the inside of my thigh. "Spread you out so I can see you?"

He gently turned me against the wall. My flat palms held me up like I was being frisked by a police officer. "Let me in to all those secret parts of yourself that you keep hidden from the world?"