That night, Clarissa curled up against Atticus beneath the trees. Fireflies winked around them, cicadas sang in the warm night air. His arm wrapped snugly around her waist as she sighed.
“Atticus…”
“Hm?” His fingers toyed lazily with her hair. “What is it?”
“There are usually so many mosquitoes out here. How co we haven’t seen a single one?”
Atticus chuckled, pulling a small embroidered sachet from his pocket. “Because of this. The herbs inside repel mosquitoes—but they attract butterflies. Rich won love them. The real ones are rare. Samson’s are the genuine deal.”
He set it gently in her hand.
The silk sachet was soft, delicate, faintly perfud. Clarissa’s chest tightened. “So you asked for this earlier… for ?”
“Of course. If even one mosquito bit my Clarissa, I’d be heartbroken,” he murmured, lifting her pale hand to his lips for a kiss.
She laughed, swatting at him. “Smooth talker.”
But she clutched the sachet to her chest and nestled into him. Above, the sky was veiled in dim moonlight, stars scattered faintly like dust.
“So comfortable…” she whispered, breathing him in.
“Comfortable?” His lips brushed her ear, his voice dropping low and dark. “Want to make you feel even more comfortable?”
Clarissa blinked, then flushed crimson as his aning sank in. She shot him a sulky glare, but her shimring eyes betrayed her.
Atticus’s gaze sharpened, hunger flashing in the darkness. He bent and captured her lips in a hard, searing kiss.
She gasped, then surrendered, arms sliding around his neck as he pressed her down into the grass.
Above her, the black sky stretched wide, stars trembling in her tear-bright eyes. She managed a breathless push against his chest. “Let’s… go back inside…”
“No one’s coming,” he coaxed, kissing down her cheek, trailing heat across her skin.
“Mmm…” Her body arched helplessly beneath him, tears stinging the corners of her eyes.
Atticus paused, brushing her damp forehead. His voice was almost tender, tinged with guilt. “Why does it still hurt?”
Clarissa wanted to snap at him. As if he didn’t know why. That bastard.
But then she sighed, closing her eyes. Forget it. Tonight, let him be.
Clarissa’s cheeks flushed crimson. She drew a few steadying breaths, then wrapped her arms around his neck, smiling softly. “It’s all right now. Just… do as you please.”
Atticus chuckled low in his throat, his voice dangerously rich. “Clarissa, don’t say things like that to a man so easily. You have no idea what kind of consequences you’re inviting.”
Before she could answer, his mouth was on hers again, devouring her. He kissed her until she nearly lost all breath, until her lips were slick and trembling under his. When he finally released her, he licked the moisture from the corner of her mouth, his husky voice rough with desire.
“But it’s too late now…”
The night stretched around them, cicadas crying in the trees, stars glimring faintly in the dim moonlight. And the hours still had a long way to go.
......
Dawn crept pale across the horizon. Atticus stood, gathering the sleeping woman into his arms as though she weighed nothing. He carried her inside, cleaned her gently, and finally laid her back onto the bed.
She stirred, hazy and exhausted, blinking open to find herself sprawled against his bare chest, his arm snug around her waist. He smiled down at her. “Did I wake you?”
“No…” Her voice was hoarse, rasping, and she coughed softly.
Atticus imdiately reached for the glass of water on the bedside table and held it to her lips. She sipped, then sighed, sinking back onto him with the lazy grace of a pampered cat. She didn’t even try to move.
His eyes softened, full of indulgence. “Clarissa, how did it feel?”
She only burrowed deeper into him.
Atticus smiled to himself, answering his own question. “I thought it was perfect. You finally let go… finally let have all of you. I used to think you hadn’t truly accepted .”
“Stop it…” she muttered, face flushed scarlet. “Go to sleep.”
The idiot. Did he have any idea how much he’d worn her out? She could barely keep her eyes open.
Amused, Atticus stroked her back in soothing circles. “All right. Sleep.”
Clarissa closed her eyes and drifted off again almost instantly.
.....
She didn’t wake until late the next morning. Her body ached deliciously, her lower back throbbing, but she felt oddly refreshed.
When she finally dressed and made her way to the set, she found Atticus standing with Oriana, calmly flipping through the docunts she’d given him. As though sensing her gaze, his head lifted, and their eyes t. Clarissa’s heart jumped—before Oriana suddenly darted toward her.
“Miss Clarissa, you’re awake! If you’re sick, you should’ve stayed in bed.”
Clarissa blinked. “Sick? Rest?”
“Yes. Atticus said you weren’t feeling well, so he’s been handling everything for you. And honestly? He’s amazing. No matter what problem cos up, he solves it like it’s nothing. It’s as if nothing can faze him.” Oriana’s voice sparkled with admiration, oblivious to Clarissa’s darkening expression.
Others might not understand, but Clarissa knew exactly what kind of sche this man was running.
And right then, Atticus strode over, reached for her hand, and said with a smile that was just a little too bright, “Why don’t you go back to bed? Get so more sleep?”
Clarissa’s glare could have cut glass. “Sleep? Do you even know what ti it is?” She shoved him aside and stalked toward Upton.
The director looked shocked when she approached. “Miss Clarissa? Why are you up? You should be resting.”
Clarissa stared blankly. Has he told the entire crew I’m ‘sick’?
She forced a laugh. “Fortunately, Atticus… didn’t cause you too much trouble?”
“Of course not. He’s very capable. Xerxes tried to stir things up this morning, but Atticus dealt with him easily.”
Clarissa smiled weakly. “I see. Seems I’m still not capable enough.”
“That’s not what I ant.” Upton chuckled, uncharacteristically light. “You’re very capable. But so things are just easier for n to handle. And really, is there any need to draw a line between you and Atticus?”
Clarissa felt her cheeks warm at his teasing tone. Before she could respond, Atticus slipped up behind her and wrapped an arm around her waist right there in front of everyone.
“Now you can rest easy, right?”
Clarissa hissed, shoving at him. “Rest easy? Who told you to tell everyone I was sick?”
Atticus’s face was the picture of innocence. “I was worried you’d overwork yourself. Besides, if I handle your jobs, won’t it make things easier for you?”
The old Clarissa might have believed him. But now she knew better. This man was dangerous, cunning, impossible to guard against.
He caught her glare, caught her silence, and only laughed softly before lifting her hand to his lips for a kiss.
“Haven’t eaten yet? I made sothing for you. Eat a little, all right?”
Clarissa pressed her lips together, saying nothing.
Seeing she still wouldn’t answer, Atticus leaned closer, voice playful, almost puppyish. “I cooked it myself. Will you try so? For ?”
Her eyes darted around the busy set, cheeks burning at the stares they were drawing. Finally she shoved at his chest, flustered. “All right, all right, let go! There are people watching.”
When they returned to their resting area, Clarissa had barely settled into her chair before Atticus appeared, carrying sothing with a secretive gleam in his eyes.
Seeing his excitent, she arched a brow. “What’s this mysterious surprise?”
“Open it and find out,” he said, voice warm with mischief.
She lifted the lid, then laughed. “Papaya and snow frog soup? That’s it? I thought it was sothing special.”
Atticus leaned in, chin resting lazily on his hand. “Taste it.”
She took a spoonful, then another. It was rich, smooth, unexpectedly delicious. Still, she couldn’t see why he was acting so mysterious. “It’s good,” she admitted. “But what’s so special about it?”
His lips curved into a slow smile. “Nothing much. Except you were so tired last night you fainted—more than once. I figured you could use a little extra nourishnt…”
Clarissa choked mid-sip, coughing violently. Atticus imdiately stood, patting her back with a hand that was half-concern, half-amusent.
“You can even choke on soup,” he teased once she recovered. “You’re getting more and more like a child.”
Her cheeks burned. She shoved at his chest, scowling. “Get out!”
He laughed softly, finding her fiery embarrassnt unbearably adorable. “All right, all right. I’ll go. Just leave the bowl there—I’ll clean it up later. You don’t have to worry about anything outside. Leave it all to .”
He bent as if to kiss her, but she slapped a hand over her lips. “I said get out! Don’t bother while I’m eating.”
Atticus gave a helpless little sigh, though his eyes glittered with wicked delight. “You’re getting bolder, you know that?” But instead of forcing her, he caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her fingertips before turning to leave.
Clarissa cursed him under her breath, her skin tingling where his lips had touched. She finished the bowl, still weary, still languid, but too restless to stay inside. She dressed and went for a walk.
She hadn’t gone far before she ran into the prop master from yesterday. His eyes lit up the instant he saw her. “Miss Clarissa!”
“Where are you headed?” she asked.
He sighed. “Don’t even ntion it. So wild cat must’ve gotten into the prop storage—everything’s a ss.”
“Anything lost?”
“Well…” He scratched his head. “Xerxes’s costu has a hole in it, so we can only shoot other scenes today. And… there’s a bottle of olive oil missing.”
“Olive oil?” Clarissa blinked.
“Yeah, you forgot? It’s one of the sponsors. We fild a product insert with it last week. I figured since it wasn’t needed on set right away, I tossed it aside. Didn’t expect it to go missing.”
Clarissa let out a small breath of relief. “At least there wasn’t a major loss. Just report the damage to finance.”
“Will do. But Miss Clarissa, don’t overwork yourself. I’ll let Atticus know.”
Her smile froze. A bead of cold sweat slid down her back. This kid… he’s practically running the whole set now. Everyone’s orbiting around him instead of .
After the prop master left, Clarissa felt uneasy and decided to check things herself. She knew how capable Atticus was, but he hadn’t learned everything—better she verify the situation personally.
She followed the sound of raised voices until she reached the other end of the set, where crew mbers were running in every direction, their faces pale with panic.
“What’s going on?” she demanded.
One of them whirled toward her, relief flooding his face. “Miss Clarissa! Thank god you’re here. The heroine slipped—she fell over the waterfall! Atticus is leading the rescue!”
“What?” Clarissa’s heart clenched. “Take there!”
They sprinted across the rugged terrain, until the roar of rushing water filled the air. The waterfall thundered ahead, foaming white against jagged rock.
And there—roped up, eyes fixed on the raging current—was Atticus.
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