Julian's breath hitched. He froze.

He stared at Orca, but the man didn't look back. He simply strode forward until the spacious bathroom felt suddenly, impossibly cramped.

Julian's throat felt dry. He needed to say something. "The staff... they told me I could use this shower. I'll make sure the tub is clean before we start the next scene."

Orca didn't answer. He just stood by the edge of the tub, watching.

Julian's mind flashed back to the kitchen shoot—lying on the island, disheveled and drenched in liquid. Orca had looked at him with these same eyes. Like a predator tracking prey through a forest. A primal sense of danger prickled against Julian's skin.

Julian grabbed a towel, ready to bolt, but Orca dropped to his knees.

Julian's mind went white.

It was a perfect, formal kneel—knees apart, back straight, resting on his heels. A classic suit-kneel. Julian's face burned. Heat radiated across his chest and down his arms.

Why is he kneeling?

Before the panic could peak, Orca reached out and took Julian's feet in his hands.

He was washing them.

Julian stared, mouth agape. Where am I? What am I doing? Is this a dream?

But the sensation was real. He could feel the heat of Orca's palms and the tickle of water against his skin. Julian's fingers dug into the porcelain edge of the tub. His toes curled. Orca worked in silence, thorough and deliberate. When he finished, he dried them and produced a bag of ice. He pressed it firmly against Julian's swollen ankle.

He's treating the sprain.

Julian exhaled, but the intimacy was too much. He shifted, a small sign of resistance, and Orca stopped immediately.

Julian pulled his feet back. Orca looked at him through the mask for a long beat, then stood and left, leaving the ice and a tube of ointment behind.

Julian finished his bath in a daze. He dressed quickly, scrubbed the tub, and fled the room like a fugitive.

The whole thing made no sense. Downstairs, Julian spotted Orca again. The man was a wall of arrogance now, ignoring anyone who tried to speak to him.

Julian's skin prickled. Was that even him upstairs? If it was, why the silence? Why the kneeling?

Julian's neck turned red just thinking about it.

The brand provided a light meal. By the time they finished, the sun had dropped. Scene Three began.

The set was the same room from the afternoon.

Julian lay in the center of the bed, a slim silhouette under the covers. Across the room, water splashed in the tub. Orca was bathing. Julian couldn't see him, but the expressions on the crew's faces told him everything he needed to know about Orca's physique.

The water stopped. The sound of a towel against skin. Bare feet on hardwood.

The mattress dipped behind Julian. The scent of bath soap hit him. Julian's shoulder burned where Orca's chest pressed against him. A feather-light touch brushed his nape.

Orca leaned in for the kiss.

It was a camera trick, a staged angle, but they were too close. Julian was a wire of tension.

"Cut," Dot called. "Jules, you're too stiff. You're a couple. It's late. You should be relaxed."

Julian muttered an apology. They tried again.

Dot still wasn't happy. She looked at the planner. "Forget the kiss. Orca, just hold him from behind."

They moved into the hug.

Orca's arms came around Julian's frame, even through the thick duvet. Julian's body began to tremble. A sudden, inexplicable urge to cry rose in his throat.

Orca was solid. Warm. Powerful. Everything Julian wasn't.

The pressure of the hold made it hard to breathe, but Julian liked it. It was a controlled confinement, like hiding under a heavy blanket in the dead of winter. It felt safe.

Julian was reserved by nature. He didn't do touch. People at Apex Capital called him cold, distant. He'd believed them. He'd lived in dorms since elementary school, detached from his parents, never in love. He thought he didn't need this.

He was wrong.

He loved the skin-to-skin contact. He loved the moment of total surrender.

It felt too good. Julian let out a soft, unintentional whimper.

Orca buried his face in Julian's neck.

He found the sensitive patch of skin behind Julian's ear, the pale area usually hidden by hair.

Julian's brain short-circuited.

The heat, the breath against his skin—it was too much. He tried to push back, but his muscles had turned to water.

Electricity buzzed from his nape to his toes, settling low in his gut. Julian's head was a mess of heat. He instinctively pressed his legs together, his spine arching.

In the dark, the silhouette of Orca and the memory of Samuel overlapped. Julian shuddered. Shame followed.

Am I crazy? Why am I thinking of Samuel now? He's my boss.

"Yes! That's it! Perfect interaction!"

Dot's voice broke the spell. Julian realized the take was over.

Orca let go. Julian scrambled out of bed, grabbing his coat to cover his lap. His face was a vivid, unnatural red.

What is wrong with me? How can I react like this to a stranger?

The girl who had been looking after him handed him a bottle of water. "Jules? Are you okay? Your face is flushed."

"Hot," Julian rasped, his ears still burning.

They didn't rest. The final scene was the "payback." Julian had to kick Orca and slap him.

Julian had never hit anyone. "Are we really doing this?"

The planner wanted realism but looked at Orca. "What do you think, sir?"

Orca looked up from the script. "What do you think?"

"The impact would be better if it's real," the planner said. "But if you're uncomfortable, we can stage it."

Julian expected a refusal. A man of Orca's status wouldn't let someone strike him.

Orca set the script aside. "Let's do it for real."

Julian's hands shook. A dark spark of excitement flared in his chest.

He was in a state of high-strung arousal by the time they rolled. He watched Orca like a lens locking focus.

"Looks like Jules has a grudge," the planner joked, seeing Julian standing over the bed with a length of rope.

"Understandable," Orca said smoothly.

Julian glared at him, then at the planner. "You wrote the script."

The planner laughed. "My bad. You're doing great."

The scene followed the intimacy. Orca was "asleep." Julian stood by the bed with the rope.

The lighting was dim, simulating a low-rise villa at night. Julian could barely see. He fumbled for Orca's hands, trying to tie them to the headboard without being too rough.

As the first knot tightened, Orca "woke up." He struggled.

Julian kicked him back into the duvet, tightened the rope, and delivered the slap.

The crack of skin on skin echoed through the room. Julian's heart hammered against his ribs.

He pushed through the rest of the scene until Dot called the cut.

The last two shots were solo. Orca in the tub, "blood" in the water. Julian by the window in Orca's pajamas, drinking wine.

They finished and went their separate ways.

Rain was falling. The showroom was in the suburbs, four miles from the nearest subway. Julian tried to call a car.

It was late. The rain made it impossible. He waited ten minutes for a car that was still miles away.

Samuel Frost drove his SUV out of the gates. He saw Julian standing by the entrance, huddled against the brick wall without an umbrella.

Samuel gripped the wheel. He's just an employee. Don't get involved.

The club incident had been a lapse in judgment. The ad shoot was only to fix Julian's finances so he'd focus on work.

Samuel had boundaries. His family, his career, his own will—none of it allowed for this.

But Julian looked so small in the rain.

Samuel turned the wheel and pulled the SUV to the curb.

It's just a ride home, he told himself. Nothing more.