No Stopping Now. Dawn Atkins

door, jeans low on his hips, easy in his skin, confident his body would do whatever he asked of it.

      Whatever she asked of it. Her weary body went on full alert and she felt tight and wet in a secret place.

      Stop that right now, she commanded, as if she could control her body’s fluids and flows and reflexes.

      When she got closer, she saw Brody had four liquor miniatures between his fingers and a DVD case under his arm. “What’s up?” she asked, trying to smile in welcome.

      “I thought we’d toast the shoot and check out the footage.”

      “How’d you get here so fast?”

      “I left when you left.” He nodded at the aspirin bottle. “You have a headache?”

      “A bit of one, yes.”

      “That my fault? I work you too hard?”

      “Of course not. It’s my sinuses. Hotel air is so dry.” She had to lie. No way could she let him know she was exhausted on her first shoot. “I thought you’d be busy. I saw that woman give you her room number.”

      “Not brainless enough for me.” He grinned at her, his expression almost fond. She realized this was a perfect chance to get to know the man behind the persona, maybe get that interview. That was her reason for being here, after all.

      “I’d love to,” she said, steadying herself against the tingles and heat of her body’s response to the man. “You want to watch that?” She nodded at the DVD under his arm.

      “Nah. I’ve got to drop this off with a guy on your floor. It’s a favor for Kirk. When he calls I’ll take it over.”

      She waved him into her room, which had been neatened by the maid, scanning for anything she didn’t want him to see. The bathroom mirror reflected her black bra on a hook from when she’d hand-washed it. Whoops. She hurried to snatch it down.

      “Black lace…nice,” he said.

      “Not that it’s any of your business.”

      “I’m interested. Curious. Aren’t you a curious person? Being a documentary filmmaker and all? Don’t you have to be nosy?”

      “Yes, actually, I am a curious person.” All her life she’d asked questions of everyone about everything. Her parents, especially her father, used to complain about her nonstop demands for answers. Which made sense, since he had all those affairs to hide. The last thing he wanted to do was say where he’d been and what he’d been doing.

      “What is it?” Brody asked, leaning toward her.

      “Just thinking,” she said, wishing he weren’t so observant.

      “You’re always analyzing. Figuring the angles, working things through in your mind.”

      “No more than most people, I don’t think.”

      He just looked at her, telling her that she wasn’t like most people and that he liked that about her. She felt warm all over, almost girlish. Ridiculous.

      He studied her—hair, face, body—lingering over each feature as if she were a shiny toy he wanted to take apart and put together. Then he smiled, pleased with what he’d discovered.

      “So, what will you have, miss?” He laid the small bottles against the back of his forearm like a sommelier presenting a wine for her approval.