Free Duchess by Susan May Warren Page A

do,” he said, his gaze travelling over her.
    Yes. She smiled. “No, darling. Besides, the studio wouldn’t let you. Dash has me on a leash. You saw that.”
    Mostly true, and she reached for him, ran a trail with her finger across the well of his throat. Her heart thundered.
    â€œI could talk to him. Buy out your contract—”
    â€œYou can’t afford me,” she said, winking. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t have some fun.”
    He caught her hand. “Roxy, what are you doing?”
    She stepped close, wove her hand around his neck. “Shh.” She kissed his neck, took the opportunity to smell the wind on his skin. Yes. Enough of her silly vows. Dash hadn’t kept his, had he?
    They had a farce of a marriage. And maybe she wouldn’t give Rafe her heart, but perhaps she could find something close enough to it.
    â€œRoxy.” Rafe’s voice rumbled beneath her hand. “What are you doing?”
    â€œIsn’t this what you really want, Rafe? Roxy Price, all to yourself.”
    She wound her arms up around his neck, plastered her body to him. Urged his neck down for a kiss.
    And for a second, the briefest of moments, she had him. She heard him groan, a soft surrender in the center of his chest as he wrapped his arms around her, catching her up, kissing her back, as if she might be right. As if she belonged to him, his mouth on hers, hungry, even amazed.
    And in that moment, she let Roxy vanish and became herself. Needing Rafe. Surrendering just a little of her heart into his arms.
    â€œNo.”
    Then, as if she might be made of fire, he let go, shoved her away, held her at arm’s length. He was breathing hard, shaking his head. “No, Roxy. What’s going on here?”
    â€œIsn’t this what you want? The fantasy?”
    He let her go, stared hard into her eyes. “No. I told you. I want the reality. I want the real Roxy Price.”
    She pressed her hand to her lips, as if to wipe away his touch. “This is the real Roxy Price.”
    â€œBut it’s not the real Rosie Worth!”
    She stared at him, the words like a slap, stealing her breath. “How do you know my real name?”
    â€œI know a lot more about you than you think.” He stepped close to her, reaching for her, even as she yanked her arm away from him. His voice softened, so much it could wound if she let it.
    â€œRosie, you don’t have to play a part with me.”
    She stared at him, his words undoing her. What did he know? And how much? “I’m not—”
    â€œDon’t.” His tone silenced her, but his expression softened as he came close, cupped her face in his hands. “Okay. I get it. For now. I’ve waited this long. I guess I can wait until you’re ready.”
    Then he kissed her again, this time so gently, she thought she might cry.
    No, she was already crying. Weeping because, yes, Hollywood could cost her everything.

Chapter 4
              
    Rooney Sherwood would get her killed yet. Rosie ached everywhere, down to her toes as she lay in her hotel bed, reliving the moment when, in an effort to get a realistic final shot, Rooney perched a cameraman on the wing of a taxiing Sopwith Camel, catching her and Grayson in a kiss as she sat on his lap.
    Which, of course, made it nearly impossible for Grayson to steer the plane, his rudimentary pilot talents turning into folly when he drove them off the runway and into a ditch, turning the plane over on its nose.
    Really, they hadn’t been moving that fast. But she’d flown from the cockpit and landed eight feet away in the dirt.
    Grayson had hung up in the cockpit and broken his arm.
    And Rafe, well Rafe nearly lost his head.
    Perhaps, if anyone would lose his life, it would be Rooney, because four men had to pull Rafe away from Rooney and hustle their director off the set.
    They’d taken her to the hospital,