Free Honey by Jenna Jameson Page A

crazy things to Marc’s mind—and his muscle. “I adore foreign films, only … ”
    Her voice trailed off, and he wondered if maybe, unlike him, she didn’t have the whole day off. If maybe she had a schedule to keep—and a sadistic tyrant to please. The last thing he wanted was for her to get hurt again. He was supposed to be figuring out a way to help her, not endanger her.
    â€œLook, if you really need to … get back, I’ll understand.”
    She bit her bottom lip. “N-no, at least I don’t suppose I do. And there is a film I’ve been dying to see.”
    Marc felt his mood lighten. “Great, then come to the movies with me. I’ll buy you all the bad-for-you movie popcorn you can put away.”
    *
    The popcorn sold at the IFC concession counter wasn’t bad for you. In fact, it was organic. That Marc hadn’t known that was probably a pretty good giveaway that the foreign film theater wasn’t his regular hangout—oh well.
    Likewise, Blue is the Warmest Color , or La Vie d’Adèle , wasn’t the kind of film he would ordinarily have picked. Actually he hadn’t picked it. Honey had. Whether spooning up mushy peas for him to try at lunch or suggesting they see a lesbian coming-of-age love story, she seemed to enjoy coaxing him out of his comfort zone. Who knew, maybe she saw it as expanding his horizons. Ironic that someone he’d initially intended to make his mission had somehow managed to turn the tables on him. But they could figure out the dynamics of their emerging “relationship” later, assuming it did indeed … emerge. Right now he felt happy just to be spending more time with her.
    On the middle of a weekday, the theater was deserted except for two teenage girls in the front row. Like the film, Marc let Honey choose their seats. They settled into the center section toward the back. They’d missed the previews, not that he deemed that much of a loss. Ordinarily watching the movie trailers was a big part of how Marc unwound, but seeing as how all the films shown here were foreign, he was happy enough to save his subtitle reading for the main event.
    â€œSo what exactly is this film about?” he whispered into Honey’s ear as the opening credits rolled.
    She turned to face him. “Love.”
    A chick flick—Marc bit back a groan. “Great, I mean it’s what makes the world go around, right?”
    â€œI used to think so.” She reached over, snagged a piece of popcorn, and popped it into her mouth.
    Training his tone to sound casual, he asked, “But not now?”
    He could see how being battered would sour someone, anyone, on love and romance. What he couldn’t begin to comprehend was why she didn’t just take herself out of there. She must have some means at her disposal. Everything on her back was either vintage or designer or both. Unless maybe the deal was the dude gave her a credit card to use and had the monthly statement sent to him. If that were the case, Winterthur would be able to track not only her spending habits but also, retrospectively, her whereabouts.
    Mulling over the possibilities, he focused on the film—or tried to. After the characters’ initial meeting and the ubiquitous “relationship building” scenes, things heated up quickly. The two women locked lips. The soft gazes and coquettish looks they’d been trading up to this point had left no doubt where things were headed and yet when they finally kissed it seemed to come out of the proverbial blue, striking almost as a complete, joyous surprise.
    Beside him, Honey sighed. Her snacking stopped and her breathing picked up audible pace. Her tightly laced legs relaxed. She’d taken off her gloves to eat the popcorn and now she traced a single finger across her collarbone, slowly back and forth, again and again. No doubt about it, she was turned on. So was he. He wouldn’t