Doing It for Love (All About Love #1) (9 page)

“My old room,” he says. It’s now the makings of an office…I think. There’s a desk, a computer, and a bookshelf, not much else.

He opens the closet and ducks inside. I hear him slump on the floor.

“There’s room for two!” he shouts, and I nudge the door wider. The closet is barely a walk-in, but I slip inside and sit on the floor across from Landon. Buster’s tail smacks the side of my head, and I shove his large puppy butt away as he settles between us. Landon slides a box out from behind him with one hand and rubs Buster’s belly with the other.

“This stuff used to cover my walls,” he says, handing me a large poster. I bat Buster’s paw off my arm and unroll the long sheath of glossy paper.

“
The Nightmare Before Christmas
…I’m not surprised.” I smile and peek over the poster to the box. There are about six or seven more, along with a bundle of Sundance tickets, article printouts, and lots of Tim Burton knickknacks. I let out a chuckle and set the poster down. “I have a boy band collection. You should see my signed One Direction poster.”

“Aren’t they a little modern for you?”

“When was the last time you saw a BBMak concert?”

“Never.”

I give him a look and reach for the box, but Buster whines and kicks at me to get a belly rubbing. I oblige only because I imagine him sitting on my lap and crushing my legs if I don’t.

Landon sweeps a hand across a Big Fish poster, staring at it with a sort of nostalgic glimmer, and I suddenly see someone ten years younger, chasing after a dream that seems unimaginable, before he became the man whose dreams are within arms’ reach.

“Tim Burton always painted what was different. He celebrated it, embraced it, made not only a story, but art. When I saw this movie”—he nods at the poster in his hands—“I saw myself. I felt like a big fish. I looked around and saw elaborate stories, people’s lives, and I wanted to create them, too.” The corner of his mouth picks up and his eyes flick to mine. “I wrote a book, thinking it meant I wanted to tell stories.”

“You wrote a book?”

He rolls the poster up and fishes around in the box. I scoot closer, Buster’s warm belly mashing against my leg.

“Weeds,”
Landon says, jostling a thick binder in his hands. “Took me a year.”

“How old were you?”

“Sixteen.”

I hold my arms out and he sets the heavy binder in my hands. “Instead of making out in your secluded tree house, you were playing the part of tortured writer, huh?” I go to flip it open, but he stops me.

“It’s awful.”

“You won’t let me peek?”

He shakes his head, and I bat at the bill of his cap. Buster whines and presses a wet nose to my knee. I sigh and shift the book so I can continue to rub his tummy. Landon’s fingers occasionally knock with mine and we scratch the pudgy pup.

“I was going to say…after writing it, I never had that spark again. I didn’t want to
write
stories. But I did want to tell them.”

“Is that when you got your grant?”

“I made the movie first. I signed up for film studies and shot
Weeds
in movie form. It’s still so rough, I don’t know how or why Mr. Nickerson saw something in it. But he did, and yeah, after it won state in film, I got a grant to make the next one.”

My chest swells, making my lips turn up and my toes tingle. I love hearing about his dreams coming true. Most of my adolescence consisted of Spin-the-Bottle, what to wear to my next date, if I’d get a date, if Mom and Dad would ever extend my curfew, what Jessie Hopkins was going to say about my new haircut, and if I’d botch my play auditions.

Now Landon, he found out what he wanted to do, and he did it. Gah…sex under a baseball cap that man is.

“It still feels unreal,” he says, eyes moving back to the Big Fish poster. “I’ve done so much, gotten so far, yet it seems unreachable at the same time.”

“It’s not. Your zombie movie will kick film festival ass.”

A wide smile sets on his lips, and he pushes the posters out of the way, tries to nudge Buster—who doesn’t move, and takes my left hand.

“Telling stories, directing,
being
someone who could make a difference is what I wanted. I still do, but it just…falls flat now.”

“What do you mean?”

“The way I felt when I got my first film award was phenomenal. I was above the moon. Then things kept coming, kept happening. I feel like I’m slowly moving up this steep mountain and I’m nearly at the top. It feels great. Exhilarating. Freeing. I feel proud of myself, and in love with what I’m doing. I feel happy.”

His eyes drop to my hand, to my ring. A thumb strokes over my knuckle. “None of that compares to when I put this on your finger.” He looks up at me, and my heart has completely ballooned from my chest. “It’s like comparing no-name to Heinz. A puddle to the ocean. Slight breeze to a raging tornado. Regular TV to HD. Dinner to dessert. And I thought, this…
this
is how it feels to finally get what your heart wants.”

A steady beat fills my ears, low and happy and thrilling. “Aww!” My smile makes my cheeks sore. My stomach feels all tingly. And I squeeze his hand twice before he squeezes back once. “That was
really
romantic.” Where has this man been?

“I know,” he says like he can’t believe it either. “You should kiss me for it.”

“I would…” I pucker my lips. “But I can’t reach.”

He puckers, too. Then we air kiss while Buster continues to bat at our hands with his paws so we keep rubbing his tummy.

“We should hit the road,” he says after a minute, pushing the box back. I give Buster another good rub and nod.

“I think my iPod is charged now, so perfect timing.”

He groans and I evil laugh. But I think I’ll let him listen to his music. After what he just said, if I can’t give him sex, I’ll at least give him power over the radio.

I’m pretty sure my future mother-in-law hates me, my future sister-in-law thinks I’m an idiot, and my future father-in-law thinks I’m pregnant, but I survived! And even with the awkward parting, the wedding is still on and according to Elle’s text to Landon, they’re planning on attending.

One parental meet and greet down, one to go. I’ve added to my Hurdle List: Find a dress, so when Mom flies in on November fifth, I can show it to her. It works great because Landon’s last day of shooting is Halloween.

He’s shooting at the school’s studio today, and even though the car is running off fumes instead of actual gas, I drive the forty-minute trip and ask the gate guy to direct me to Landon’s shoot.

I get out of the car and a cute girl with an iPod bud in one ear while the other dangles down her front escorts me through a giant set of metal doors. Fog spills out over my heels, and she puts a finger to her lips. I nod and slip inside.

Not even three steps in, I adjust my baby blue sweater on my shoulders, wondering if I should have grabbed my coat. I thought the set would be hot and muggy considering there’s a ton of smoke from the fog machine and Landon always comes home smelling of sweat. But it’s like the a/c is cranked to frost and it’s already below sixty outside.

My shoes aren’t exactly quiet, and I don’t want a
click clack
to pick up on anything, so I slide them off and tiptoe across a cold tile floor. I can hear Jace yelling, but I can’t make out what he’s saying. When I get past the main hallway to the open set, my mouth pops open a little.

I don’t know why, but I expected something a little…low-funded? But as I look at the cameras, the fog, the props, the actors, the lighting, the microphones, all of it…it’s like I walked in on a legitimate Hollywood movie set. Goose bumps prickle up and down my arms that have nothing to do with the cold.

“Can we cut for a second?” Landon says from behind the camera. A giant smile sets on my face as I watch his furrowed brow as he looks at the playback, his light scruff when he scratches his chin, his tongue poke out slightly like it always does when he’s concentrating real hard.

That man is mine.

“Jace, can you do that line again, but instead of looking at Chantal, look slightly to her right.”

Jace twirls his prop rifle, letting it come to rest on his shoulder. “You got it.”

“And Chantal, try to figure out what he’s looking at. Exaggerate it.”

“Do you want me to improv any dialogue?” Chantal asks while Landon waves the makeup person to fix the blood on Chantal’s neck.

“No. I want to make it comedic without any mention of it.”

She nods and then stretches her neck up to get her zombie bite refreshed. Landon adjusts his cap and leans in to Jace, and they laugh at whatever he says. I tiptoe behind the camera, far enough so I’m not in the way and close enough to see what it looks like on screen.

“All right, marker.” Landon moves back behind the camera. A guy with a headset announces it’s take twenty-two and then the set quiets.

“We can’t,” Jace says, looking over Chantal’s shoulder. She looks behind her and looks back.

“But I’m not a zombie.”

“Yet.” He’s still looking at something behind her. “But when that bite spreads, you’re going to want to eat me.”

“I want to eat you now. Like a stuffed turkey.” She makes this squeezing motion with her hands, and I choke back a laugh.

Jace keeps looking over her shoulder. Chantal steps into his line of vision and he turns his head. They do it through their entire scene, and it’s so ridiculous that holding in my laughter causes me to lightly snort. Landon turns around, nods to some guy who gives him a thumbs-up, then Landon’s gaze drifts to me.

He squints like he’s not sure who I am, but after I wave an apology for disturbing the shoot, his smile widens and he yells, “Cut!” right in the middle of Jace’s line.

“Dude, I was killing that!” Jace says with a toss of his hands.

“Break for ten.”

Chantal lets out a giant sigh of relief and then rushes to the ladies’ room behind me. Jace takes off his ripped wardrobe jacket and chats to a couple of the extras. Landon takes off his headphones, hops over a chair, and meets me at the back of the room.

“What’re you doing here?”

“I’m here to micromanage, of course.”

He laughs. “I’m open to suggestions.”

“Stop making me laugh, because I’ll ruin every take.”

“Laughing is good.”

“I thought you were shooting a zombie movie.”

“Zombie parody. It’s called
The Walking Stiff.
”

“Sounds like a porn.” I flick my gaze over his shoulder to Jace. He’s using a spoon as a mirror while he fixes his hair. “Though I think you’ve cast it well.”

“Comedy is Jace’s forte.”

“And yours.”

His smile gets even bigger, and he pulls me into his arms. “So really, what are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you work. Is that okay?”

“Hell yeah. You want a quick tour?”

“Yes, please.”

“You can put your shoes back on.”

I make a face at him and use his shoulder for balance while I slip on my heels. Then he takes my hand and pulls me toward all the equipment. Most of it has been abandoned with the break Landon announced, so he leads me right up behind “camera 4,” which is the one shooting Chantal’s mark.

“It goes to my laptop over there.” He points behind us. “Chantal has great action/reaction, so I end up using more of her perspective than I probably should. She also has the better face for kissing.”

“Say what now?” I ask with a raised eyebrow. Landon chuckles, takes my chin in his hand, and leans in.

“If I shoot from this camera during the kissing scenes, it captures Chantal’s face more while we get most of Jace’s profile. It’s a more direct facial.” His fingers tiptoe across my cheek. “When we kiss, you always turn right. If we were to kiss in front of this camera, we’d see mostly you, less of me.”

“Don’t you see both kissers equally?”

He grins and taps a peck to my lips before pulling back. “There’s always a ‘lead’ kisser. In this case, it’s Chantal because Jace constantly grins like a dumbass.”

“Sounds like someone else I know.”

He lightly tickles my belly button, and then tugs me to the set itself. It’s a replica of a department store that’s in shambles. There’s a prop zombie across a conveyor belt, looking grossly realistic. I see the food in our house has been put to good use for the bloody guts. I’m really trying not to freak out.

Landon pulls me to Jace and Chantal’s marks and gently rotates my shoulders. “This is where we shot the sex scene.”

“Eww.”

“Where else are you gonna get busy during a zombie apocalypse?”

“You don’t. You run like hell or just let yourself get bitten.”

“Which one are you?”

“Oh, I’ll be the very first zombie. You?”

“I’ll be the number-one zombie killer.”

“Looks like it’ll really be ‘till death do us part.’ ”

He chuckles and takes a step closer. My stomach whirls because he hasn’t stopped smiling since he spotted me. If I’d known he’d react like this, I would’ve visited the set way before now.

“It’s an off-screen sex scene for the most part,” he says, “and it’s not really sexy. More awkward.”

“So…it’s realistic,” I tease.

“You must be losing your memory. I’m a badass in the sack.”

“Maybe you should remind me.”

It’s out before I can tell my mouth to shut up. But it’s been a while since we
flirted
. We’ve been together for four years. Sleeping together for about the same. Our peas and carrots sex routine usually starts with “do you wanna?” and then we jump into bed. My lady parts have never been so excited just standing here, fully clothed, in the middle of something pretty public (and freaky-looking).

Landon’s eyebrows waggle, and it makes me snort because I’m hot like that, and he pulls me from the set, leads me down a cold and foggy hallway, down another, then into a room packed full of props. Rows upon rows of wardrobe choices line the left half of the room while the right half holds chairs, trees, fake weapons, and dismembered mannequins. There’s a barrel full of zombie-fied arms and legs. I walk up to it and poke at one of the fingers. “Gross.” I laugh under my breath.

The click of the lock makes me turn, and Landon tucks his hands into his pockets as he walks toward me.

“Why’d you lock the door?” I ask with a seductive lilt.

“Habit, I guess.”

“Then go unlock it.”

“It’s all the way over there.” He waves a hand behind him, and I roll my eyes back to the barrel of body parts. I notice a director’s chair and plop into it with a grin.

“I’ve always wanted to sit in one of these.” I wiggle my butt and cross my legs. “They need cup holders, though.”

“Built-in refrigerators.”

“Ooh, yes. Request that for your next movie.”

“If I get one.”

“You will.”

“I lucked out with the last grant.”

“I’m not talking about getting another grant. Some big-time studio is going to hire your ass and make you super famous.”

Half his mouth quirks up. “I hope my ass is up for it.”

I
almost
reach out and grab his sweet rear end, but I keep my hands firm on the chair. “Your ass is capable of many great things.”

His voice lowers. “You haven’t even seen any footage.”

“I don’t have to.” I swivel in the chair and point to the back fabric. “It’ll say Wangford right here someday.”

Landon doesn’t say anything, and that surprises me, so I flick my eyes back to him. His jaw is clenched, breathing labored, and he takes a confident step forward.

“I’m not going to kiss you,” he says. My eyebrows lift and I drop my gaze south. An uncontrollable smile forms on my lips. Well, hello there, Lord Landon.

“Okay,” I say, crossing my arms. “But it’s not against the rules.”

“I know.” He takes another step forward. “I’m still not going to kiss you.”

I take my lip between my teeth and play with it. He watches the movement, and I watch him watching, and it’s
fun.
We haven’t done this since we first started dating. And it hits me…I could win this thing right here and now. I can get him to cave. I just have to remember how to be seductive…

“Will you sit in the chair?” I ask him playfully, sliding from the seat.

“Why?”

“I want to see you in it.”

He gives me a suspicious look but obliges anyway. He has to adjust himself as he sits, and that makes my lower abdomen giddy. Calm down, girl. We’ve only just begun.

I stand back and obviously check him out. Playing with my lips again, I let my eyes drift over his body, and I don’t even have to pretend to enjoy the view. He jokingly poses for me in different commanding positions, like he’s yelling at the cameraman or calling action or cut, and then he does a frustrated growl that makes me laugh and inch forward. His smile somewhat fades when he notices my wicked grin.

“I’m not going to kiss you,” he says again.

My heart pounds a few extra beats. I keep my eyes locked with his and slowly straddle him. My inner thighs rub tight against his hips, my butt settles on his knees. There’s a fair amount of distance between our upper bodies still, but I have to yell at myself to stop. Keep away from the bulge! I will not let this backfire on me.

I rest my hands on the back of the chair, balancing on his legs. “Why not?”

He gulps. “Huh?”

“Why won’t you kiss me?” I bat “innocent” eyes at him and his jaw clenches.

“You…you have bad breath.”

“The worst, huh?” I wet my lips. “I’m pretty sure it’s spearmint gum.”

“I’m not going to kiss you.”

“I won’t kiss you either.”

His hands twitch. He’s white-knuckling the armrests. He shuts his eyes, blows out a breath, and I let my heart dance in my chest. Why don’t I try to seduce him anymore? Why don’t I flirt as much? It’s amazing. The challenge of making yourself completely irresistible—and the victory lap in Chocolateville afterward, it’s enough to make me grab Lord Landon and throw in the towel.

But winning is more fun.

I lean in, making sure to keep my lips from pressing any part of him, and rake my tongue across his ear. He shivers underneath me, muttering, “SundanceSundanceSundance” under his breath.

“Are you going to kiss me now?” I roughly whisper. The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

“No.”

I slowly take his lobe between my teeth, still careful about not touching my lips to his skin, and nibble till I hear him groaning. It doesn’t take long.

“How about now?” I ask. He shakes his head, but his hands have moved from the chair to my thighs. His grip is tight. Like painfully, pleasurably tight. I don’t have to exaggerate the whimper that rises from my throat.

I lean back and wait for his eyes to open. When they do, he grits his teeth and says a strong and firm “No.”

His determination is adorable, and I lose seductive for a second and run my hand over the bill of his cap. I pull it backward, watch his gaze drop to my lips, to my throat, down the front of my shirt, and my breathing speeds up. I want him to want me. I want him to want me so bad he can’t help himself. I want him to want me like he used to want me—like he can’t
have
me, but he’s taking me anyway.

I want strawberries and whipped cream sex. And I want it now.

My tongue tentatively slides out, and I lean forward and drag the tip across Landon’s chin, up his lips, over the tip of his nose, and pull it back into my mouth after I feel his hot breath on the hollow of my throat.

I’m about two seconds away from losing the Bahamas. But then Landon curses under his breath, and he wraps his hand around the back of my head and crashes his lips into mine—tongue first.

He’s so commanding and aggressive, it’s setting my entire body on fire. I’m at the gates of Chocolateville already and we’re only kissing. But there they are, glowing and taunting me. Stupid gates…I’m supposed to be in control here.

“I
can’t,
” I mumble around his lips. I can’t lose.
He
needs to lose. He starts grunting something too, but I have no idea what. We’re both talking, and his mouth moves to my collarbone, which he has never loved as much as he loves it right now.