The Journalist and Her Actor

Chapter 20

Agony. That is what it was like being the subject of Luke Walker performing CPR. Because not only did I feel his lips like a burning beacon, enticing this little colorful moth to its flame, but CPR was repetitious, which meant I got to feel his lips several times— a delicious temptation. SEVERAL TIMES. An all consuming, all encompassing, repetitious, gloriously terrible temptation.

Which meant with Dustin's insistence that we redo the scene several times, I felt Luke's lips over, and over, and over, burning into my mind, burning into every part of me until it was all I could think of, until it was all I could feel.

My normal mantra of 'breathe, breathe, breathe,' was counter intuitive because I was supposed to be waterlogged— unable to breathe, breathless.

Luke was literally the breath in my lungs.

Finally, after the best acting I had ever done, which was literally me playing dead, and pretending that Luke's gentle touch and lips had ZERO affect on me, the CPR ended and I could finally move. And soon, I was bolting up to a sitting position and shooting water out of my mouth like a comedian doing a spit take.

How classy after what just happened.

I coughed, face red, not needing to pretend that I was flustered, because I was. I very much was. Pretending that Luke brought me back from a place of darkness didn't require much imagination on my part. I felt like I was on fire, and no amount of ocean water could cool me down.

Luke placed his hand on my lower back, helping me sit up, sending a jolt of electricity across my bare skin. "Whoa, easy. You okay?"

I continued to cough, fingers digging into the sand on either side of me, trying to regulate my breathing. His touch was too much, and holding my breath, my mouth full of water for that long had been agony.

"Deep breaths," Luke said, voice calm, yet firm, leaving no room for argument. A drill sergeant angel beckoning me towards a white warm light that I couldn't ignore.

Then I finally looked up at him, my eyes focusing on the world around me for the first time in what felt like eternity, making me realize how many scenes we had shot with my eyes closed.

The sky was on fire with color. Reds bled into oranges and yellows, which all seeped into hints of deep blue as the sun began sinking towards the water behind Luke. The frame of the fire around him made my heart ache. He was already beautiful, but the tapestry behind him made it hard to take him in. Too much beauty in one snapshot. My head felt dizzy.

He was shirtless, showcasing muscles that were almost obscene, alluring, tempting— so utterly gorgeous that it took several attempts to bring my eyes back up to where they were supposed to be. He wore board shorts, his skin coated in sand.

For a long moment, we both just stared at each other, eyes drinking in each others features, processing facial expressions, our lines forgotten, registering the change between us. A line that was crossed with lips.

The moment felt endless, long and full of unspoken words. Tentative, loud, and wild with possibilities. But one word seemed to burn, relentless between us. 

WANT.

Then we blinked, putting the pieces of the scene back together, falling back into character and out of ourselves. "Are you okay?" Luke asked, back in character.

No. Not at all...

"Yes..." I breathed, finding my voice. "Thank you."

He sighed, looking relieved. "Don't thank me. I nearly killed you." He reached forward and touched my forehead, now covered in fake blood, sending another brush of flame down my body. "You're bleeding." His fingers came away covered in sticky red syrup, concern flashing across his face.