He swallowed as he recalled how dry his mouth was that night and how he felt when he stood close to her and brushed Bogongs from her hair, like he wanted to lay down his life and worship her. And everything that made him feel that way, uncomfortable, surprising and raw, was there on the screen.
He was so intent on watching the real Rielle, he almost missed the shot of himself. Harry’s crew captured him gazing at his moth goddess with a look of pure adoration on his face. The tenderness of the scene where he almost held her, and deliberately tangled his hands in her hair, hit him with a force that knocked the air out of him. He leaned back against the wall because his knees might not hold him.
He was in love with this woman. With her goddess and her bitch, with her tough rock chick persona, and with the self she didn’t even want to be.
Rielle dropped her legs and spun to him, her eyelids flaring, shock in the set of her shoulders. Their eyes met, but Jake couldn’t handle the pointed intensity of her focus. He pushed the door behind him and stumbled out of the room, blinking in the brighter light of the corridor. He should’ve kept moving, should’ve bolted, because he wasn’t ready to face her. She came through the door and flung herself in his arms.
Shocked, he caught her, but pushed her away, his hands at her waist, bending to bring his face level with hers.
She thrust her chin up. “You and I have a thing. We’re not done yet.”
He shook his head. “Rie, we tried. It’s not meant to be.”
“That look in there with the moths, it was after that awful night together—after it. You looked at me like that, like you’re freaking in love with me and you’re going to stand here now and tell me it’s nothing.”
He dropped his gaze to the carpet. He couldn’t face that truth. “I like you, Rie; I admire you. I’ve never hidden that.”
She pushed him and he took a step back. “You’re a liar, Jake Reed.”
There were two spots shaped like Rielle’s palms that burned along his ribs. He’d never wanted anything in his life more than he wanted to grab hold of her now, but it had to be all of her, not this half world where she kept part of herself hidden.
He looked up. He was breathing heavily, focussed on the frustration and anger in her expression. “All of you. It has to be all of you: the good and bad, the actress and the imitation. All or nothing, Rie.”
She punched him, her fist driving into his arm, her words pounding at his heart. “No, you don’t get to say who I am. You don’t get to make that choice.”
“You already made that choice for me. You already showed me parts of all of you. From the very first day we met. I don’t want less now.”
She shouted, “No!” making a chopping gesture with both hands.
He closed his eyes to block out the vision of her resentment. “Your call, Rielle.” He stepped back from her. He needed distance to stop from wanting to snatch her up. “You know how I feel; you just saw it and you know what I want. But if you can’t handle it, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for both of us.”
32. Kiss
or Kill
In theory, Jake could’ve legitimately avoided attending the video shoot. The staging trucks were due in so he had other demands to deal with. He had exercises to do from the behavioural therapist as well, but feeling the absence of Jonas, Rand wanted him along for moral support and he couldn’t turn the guy down.
In practice, this atmospheric back alley in St Kilda was the last place he wanted to be. If Rielle came anywhere near him he was liable to kiss or kill her and there wasn’t much of a gap between those contrary feelings. She’d characteristically stormed off after their last confrontation, though she’d only beaten him to that punch-line by seconds. Whatever this madness was, it certainly wasn’t over. She was infuriating. She was stubborn, hard headed, outrageous and wondrous beyond words.
He figured by the end of the night, he’d either be holding her with impure intentions or strangling her with out of control passion. Fighting off going too fast at the mere touch of her or arrested for manslaughter. Either seemed a reasonable end to it. Meanwhile he was miserable, congested with feelings he didn’t know how to clarify.
She was dressed in a barely-there outfit that looked like a collection of bandages with far more of her uncovered than covered. It was a costume she wore in the show as well. They’d shot half a dozen different takes of the song with three costume changes and this strappy little number was the last of them.
If he’d have been concentrating, Jake could have made sense of it all: the repeated takes, the jump cuts and the sections identified for clips from Harry’s footage. But sitting on an upturned milk crate behind the camera crew, he was stewing instead.
Every move Rielle made felt like she was playing for his audience of one. Her eyes were locked on his, her focus absolute. She teased him, seduced and romanced only him. The other twenty or so people operating cameras or lights, running security or managing wardrobe, hair and makeup—including two stills photographers, a publicist and Harry—might well have been dust.
His body felt overheated, his palms sweaty. There was an ache in the back of his jaw from clenching his teeth to stop from simply marching across the set, stripping the stupid bandages off her, and taking her then and there in front of everyone. If he didn’t get to her first, she was going to do him in, make an internal organ explode. He had visions of her standing over him half-naked and laughing as he bled out. There was no God and she was Satan.
When Jake sat behind the main camera, Rielle laughed. She owned him now. He was a goner. If he’d sat almost anywhere else it would have been harder. She’d have had to ignore him to watch the camera’s red light instead. Maybe he’d done it without thinking; maybe he’d done it on purpose. But it gave her all she needed to make sure he was aware of what he was missing out on. He couldn’t have all of her but he could have this and this was at least seventy percent pure Rielle Mainline. She was the performance and she was going to make him love her on her terms.
The way he was looking at her now though, like he might be capable of eating her uncooked with a spoon, was a little distracting. She’d had to ask Martin twice about the next part of the shoot and Rand, who’d figured out what was going on, was shaking his head at her.
“It’s like watching a dog gnaw on a bone, Rie. You’re not giving him room to breathe. You’re going to turn him inside out if you keep this up.”
“Well, he asked for it.”
“Just don’t break him. I like him and we need him.”