He reached out, his thumb tracing her jawline. Not a lover's touch. A curious one. As if he were learning the geography of her face for the first time.
She pressed her lips to the back of his neck. "Then let's give him a performance he'll never forget."
Then, the third buzz.
Siri let the robe fall to the floor. She took the service elevator down, her bare feet silent on the concrete garage floor. When she slid the side door open, Elias was already there, the engine a low growl. ForPlayFilms 23 08 01 Siri Dahl Midnight Tryst ...
And she would never let them see the rushes.
She smiled, slow and dangerous. Below, leaning against a vintage motorcycle still ticking with heat from the ride, was Elias. His leather jacket was dark, his posture patient. He didn't wave. He just looked up, a pinpoint of focus in the sprawling city.
The city never truly slept, but at midnight, it breathed differently. The neon sigh of a lone bar sign, the hiss of tires on wet asphalt from a summer storm that had just passed—these were the sounds Siri Dahl listened to as she stood by the open window of her tenth-floor apartment. He reached out, his thumb tracing her jawline
"You should go," she said. "Before they notice."
"I watched your last scene," he said, not looking at her. "The one where you play the widow."
He nodded but didn't move. "Same time tomorrow?" As if he were learning the geography of
"Look down."
That was the thing about Siri. Every role she took, every ForPlayFilms script they handed her, she poured something real into it—something she couldn't say in daylight. And Elias was the only one who ever watched closely enough to see the difference between the character and the crack in her voice.
She stepped closer. The leather of his jacket was cool, but his breath was warm against her cheek. "I want this midnight to be ours. Not theirs."