“What do you want, Aerie?” he whispers.

“More of you. All of you.”

But instead of giving me more, he pulls out. His eyes are intense and focused. “Do you trust me?”

I nod.

“Get on top of me.”

My heart pounds, but I do as he says, and as I straddle his thighs, his cock rubs against my stomach. He takes it his hand and my stomach flutters.

“Lift yourself on top of me,” he whispers.

I want to laugh at myself for not having figured that out to begin with.

As I lower myself down, he grabs my hands and pushes against my palms. That’s all the support I need, and before long, we find a rhythm. He arches his back as I rise up and I can see the pleasure he’s feeling at the same time I feel it. He lets go of my hands to cup my breasts. I look down at him and my hair tumbles forward. He pushes it away. His hips rise off the bed, his hands move to my clit. I watch it all. Erotic, beautiful, different, new—everything I’ve never known and nothing I ever want to live without.

I lean back slightly and sensations sweep through my body everywhere.

“Fuck,” he groans.

And in unison, the two of us become one and small ripples of pleasure race through me over and over, one after the other in continuous waves.

For the rest of the night, we didn’t say we loved each other again . . . we didn’t have to. We took the time to learn each other’s body. What we liked, where we liked it. I let go and let him in—and he showed me how.

Jagger had promised to get me to work on time, but I took the morning off anyway. I had tons of personal hours saved up that I hadn’t used in years. He dropped me off at my house with plenty of time for me to shower and get to work by noon.

The sight of two huge white envelopes, at least six inches thick, sitting on my desk greets me the moment I walk in my office. I approach it with curiosity.

Kay looks at me. “I hope that’s not your severance package,” she jokes.

I raised a brow. “At least it would be a big one.”

Laughing, she taps her pencil on her desk. “Well, what is it?” she asks.

Pride rushes through me as I see Warner Bros. stamped across the thick packages.

“It must be the script changes for my uncle’s movie,” I beam.

She purses her lips. “What movie? I didn’t know your uncle made movies.”

I sit down and roll my chair to open the side drawer. “He doesn’t. My uncle was a musician and Warner Bros. is making a movie about his life.”

“Don’t tell me your uncle is Ian Daniels,” she remarks in shock.

Slitting the envelopes open with the letter opener, I pull the contents out of the first one. “None other.”

She stares at me, seemingly unable to speak.

“What?” I ask, glancing down at the two-page memorandum from the director addressed to me.

“My sister is doing her first screen test today for the role of Madeline in that movie.”

“In the movie, No Led Zeppelin?” I ask.

“Yes.” She beams.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive,” she answers.

My eyes scan the words before me.

Ms. Daniels,

As you know screenplays are instruments that transform words on a page and bring stories to life. They should snap, crackle, and pop from page one. And although I find your uncle’s life fascinating, I believe the integral element of romance is needed to make this movie all it can be. I want to grab the audience’s attention from page 1, from the very first scene. And when it ends, I want to leave the audience grieving with the most profound emotional impact I possibly can.

So with that being said, attached are the changes I’ve made to the script. The biographers stumbled across your uncle’s on again off again romance and I have taken a few liberties to expand upon it. The romance your uncle shared with Madeline Grayson through the years and even up until the two years before his death is inspiring . . .

My heart sinks and I lift my eyes from the paper. Madeline Grayson? That’s Levi’s mother. I had no idea my uncle ever dated her. She was married to Levi’s father for years. But they divorced that last summer I spent at the beach with my uncle. The summer before Levi broke my heart and I couldn’t bring myself to go back until it was too late. Until my uncle was dying.

I glance over at Kay. “When did you say your sister was doing the screen test?”

“She got a call about an hour ago and was told to be there at two.”

“Who’s your sister?” I ask as I try to glance at the script changes that will take days to go through.

“Jules Atwood. We’re half-sisters, actually.”

The name rings in my head, but I can’t place it. I know I’ve heard of her.

“Aerie?” she asks.

I look up. “I’m sorry. What?”

“My sister. Do you think she’d be good for the role of your uncle’s girlfriend?”

I click my computer keyboard and Google Jules Atwood. “I’m not really sure, to be honest with you.”

My mouth drops as I stare at the face of the woman I saw in the elevator that morning. The one with the raspberry leather jacket, the one with the haunting face, the one Jagger spoke to by his car, and—Kay’s sister. Zooming in on one of the pictures on the screen, she’s dressed in a long tight skirt, showing off her narrow hips and tall, slender figure—and that’s all she’s wearing. She’s topless with her hair in front of her breasts and her heavy-looking earrings sparkle in the reflection of the water she’s standing in. She’s absolutely stunning and the thought of her cast against Jagger makes my stomach turn.

I quickly close the computer window and take a deep calming breath. “Excuse me a minute.” I grab my phone and head out to the lobby. Dialing my attorney, he comes on the line and reminds me that I declined my rights to review script changes. He says we can fight them but they’d probably win. However, it would tie up production for a long time and maybe long enough that the execs would just shelve the project.

I hold back my tears as I sit down and lean against the cool glass. Why did I never know my uncle had an affair with his neighbor? She was at all his summer parties with her husband. Did he have a love affair with a married woman? But I loved him, and who he loved would never have made a difference to me—married woman or not, I wouldn’t have cared. But I would have liked to have known—to have seen him happy with her. I would have liked someone who loved him to talk to about him once he was gone.

Colored vases adorn the shiny granite topped reception area and soft music beats through the speakers. It’s quiet in the lobby and I stay out here for a long while with my head in my hands, just trying to think about nothing.

“Aerie, there you are,” Kay says, rushing my way. “My friend over at the Warner Bros. lot told me to come by on the pretense of an interview for the first issue of Sound Entertainment Magazine and I could grab a peak at the casting table. Come with me. I want you to meet my sister,” she implores.

I’m reluctant, but my curiosity wins out. “Sure, I’ll come. Let me just check in with Shelly and make sure the layouts I gave her on Friday have been accepted.”

“Judging by the nine-story-high billboards, I guess they tape Conan there.” Kay snorts as she pulls up to the Warner Bros. gate.

The guard directs her to a large parking structure across the street. I’m pretty sure if I had called Brett, we would have given me a drive-on. When she parks her Mercedes SLS, I notice we are the only car in this lot with California plates.

We cross the street and go through an airport-like security check where we have to show our IDs. Once we walk onto the lot, it’s clear we’re in Hollywood. Each soundstage has a sign indicating what movies are being filmed in them.