Not In The Scripts.
Angel’s Point Of View
He was on a call when our eyes met. And there, I felt it, the butterflies assembling their meetings in my belly.
Two women walked up to Raul—one removing his blazer with way too much enthusiasm, and the other had the audacity to trace her fingers slowly down his arm like he was some delicacy on a silver platter.
My jaw clenched so tight I was sure it’d pop. He didn’t even seem to notice. Typical. Or maybe he did and just didn’t care.
He ended his call, handed his phone to Danielle without a glance, and walked past me like I wasn’t about to combust just from watching him.
I forced myself to focus. This was work. This was a job. Just another scene. Just another day.
Right?
“You’re about to start shooting, so I’ll head out. Catch you later,” Nickolai said, his voice casual but carrying that familiar edge.
My stomach dropped. I’d completely forgotten Nickolai was there, watching me lose myself in that moment with his married twin brother.
Heat crept up my neck, a mix of guilt and embarrassment washing over me.
God, I hoped he hadn’t noticed the way I’d been staring at his married twin brother, practically drooling like some lovesick fool.
The scene from Roslyn’s book started.
He stepped toward me with that usual intensity—the one that made my skin burn and my heartbeat falter.
In character, he pulled me by the waist into his chest. And God, the way our bodies aligned… I felt every inch of him, every breath, every shift of his muscle against mine.
“I give you one week to fall in love with me, Felicia,” he whispered, voice deep and low—dangerously seductive.
The kind of voice that gets tangled between your thighs long after it’s gone.
I rolled my eyes, doing my best to stay in character.
“Don’t be so confident, Gustavo. I won’t fall for you.”
I stepped back like the script demanded, but before I could make a full escape, he spun me back, tighter this time.
His arm wrapped possessively around my waist.
Then he said it. The line.
“Listen, amoré. When I want something, I get it. And I want you. I’ll do anything to get you—regardless of what I’ll have to go through, and the consequences of being with you.”
It hit differently.
That wasn’t just Gustavo speaking. That was Raul. The message in those words burned right through the fabric of the script and into the truth we weren’t supposed to name. Not here. Not yet.
His breath ghosted across my neck and I swore my spine melted.
My ass was pressing right against him, against all of him, and I could feel every inch of how much he wanted me. It took every ounce of restraint I had not to sink to my knees and taste the truth out of him.
I swallowed hard.
But then he growled, “Fuck this,” and all hell broke loose.
He spun me around again and slammed his mouth on mine. And this wasn’t acting. This wasn’t make-believe. This was us.
I moaned into his kiss, all control evaporating. My arms wrapped around his neck like they belonged there.
His lips were warm, tasting like citrus and mint, soft and addictive like chewing bubblegum you never want to spit out. He kissed like he had something to prove, and hell, maybe he did.
One hand gripped my neck, the other squeezed my hip, and my entire body was screaming. Screaming for more, for now, for him.
Then….
“Cut!”
Hunter’s voice sliced through the heat like a blade.
I snapped away from Raul, breathless and dazed, suddenly remembering where we were, what we were doing.
My lips were still tingling. My heart still racing.
“Mr. D’Amano,” I began, breathless, flustered, “I think you mistook this act for a different scene. That kiss… that was supposed to come later….”
“Actually, it’s perfect,” Roselyn cut in, beaming like she just won the lottery.
“When I wrote this, I never imagined this moment like that,” she said, eyes dancing. “But now I can’t unsee it. It adds drama and tension. We’re keeping it.”
She winked. “Hunter, don’t cut it. Let’s move on.”
I was still trying to catch my breath, but all I could think was: If that was just a scene… how the hell am I supposed to survive the rest of this movie?