Thomas wasn't sure why he felt so nauseous on the way back to his room. His room. Not theirs. Danielle had happily taken Chris Winters' offer to stay with him for the week, and though Thomas had protested – he wanted his lead actors to actually get some sleep, not do God-knows-what at night – he could not change their minds. "We're just friends," Danielle had assured him and that was that.
Friends. Exactly what Thomas and Danielle were supposed to be, too. But they weren't, were they? They could never comfortably share a bed. There was too much history, too many horrific things said and done – mostly by him. Not to mention the fact that, just as Chris had said, he used to be her professor.
He sighed. It wasn't like he had wanted her to sleep in the same bed as him. They would have found another way. His idea of taking turns sleeping on the sofa downstairs, for example, still seemed like an excellent one. But then why did he feel like someone had just taken something away from him? This was what was best, wasn't it? He wouldn't even have to half-share a bed with her.
It might have just bothered him, smelling her shampoo on the pillows when it was his turn to take the bed. And, surely, the smell of her perfume on the sheets would have only given him a headache. No, he had lost nothing by this arrangement. In fact, he had won – a bed all to himself. Yes, it was for the best.
Or so Thomas told himself when he shut the door to his room behind him and got to unpacking his things.
Chris' room looked exactly the same as the one Danielle was originally meant to share with Hunt. Exactly the same, down to the bed. And, as she had noted earlier the bed was more than big enough for two people to share. With Chris, that wouldn't be a problem.
Of course, there was the little matter that they had dated once, but that was long behind them. Their friendship, really, was in a good place at the moment. Besides, even when they had been together, Chris had always been an easy person to sleep next to. He really didn't take up too much space, and he didn't snore.
For a brief second, Danielle wondered if Hunt snored. She quickly discarded the thought, though. She didn't want to think about Hunt sleeping… or her sleeping next to him. It wasn't going to happen, and that was a good thing. She could only imagine how uncomfortable Hunt would be, sharing a bed with her. It almost made her giggle. Back when she was a student, she would have found it hilarious and most likely teased him about it. But not now. No, now she knew it would be a horrible idea. After all, that kind of thing was what had got them into this in the first place.
Just a dance. Hunt had been right; it could never have been just a dance. If only she hadn't insisted on it back then. It would not have happened, there would not have been any photos for Montmartre to find, and they wouldn't be here. But then again, the list of her top 10 favourite evenings would be one evening short, too.
"Dani?" Chris ripped her from her thoughts. "Your stuff won't unpack itself."
Right. Right, she had to unpack her bags, and then get some sleep. She'd had a short nap on the flight, but it wasn't so easy for her to sleep on planes. She was tired, and sleep would keep her from thinking about Hunt and this entire mess. Hopefully.
So she got to unpacking her things. Chris helped her after he was done with his own bags, which contained significantly less clothing than hers. When they had finished up, Chris went to the bathroom to get ready for bed first. Danielle went right after, happy she didn't run into Hunt in the corridor.
When she was done and returned back to the bedroom, Chris was already under the blanket. She could tell he was shirtless, which wasn't unexpected, but she hoped to God he was at least wearing underwear. When he noticed her, he sat up and the blanket slid down so she could see his abs in all their glory. He looked so good, it was a shame Danielle didn't have feelings for him.
"Hey there," he said, looking her up and down. Danielle blushed, realising she herself wasn't wearing a lot of clothes. A tank top and some rather tiny shorts – she preferred sleeping naked, but she hadn't known what the sleeping arrangements were and just in case of shared rooms, she had packed a pair of pyjamas. She was glad of it now.
She quickly composed herself, though. Chris had seen her in much less clothing than that, and they were friends now. Nothing to be ashamed of. She walked over to the bed and lifted her own blanket – at least there was more than one! Before she laid down, though, she narrowed her eyes and asked, "You're not naked, are you?"
Chris laughed at that and shook his head. "Hey, this isn't some attempt at trying to seduce you. I'm just trying to be nice."
"I know," Danielle said and climbed into the bed. It felt like a cloud! "Ohh, and I'm so thankful. I'm sure the couches downstairs could never feel like this."
"Honestly, I think I could sleep anywhere just about now," Chris chuckled. "I'm exhausted."
"Me too," Danielle yawned. She wiggled around until she found a somewhat comfortable position. "Good night, Chris."
"Good night," he replied and turned off the light.
Danielle woke up sweating in the middle of the night. She was hot, so hot. And it was all because of that stupid bastard. Why couldn't he leave her alone, not even in her dreams? Oh, but what a dream that was. She had no idea where it had come from, but she couldn't say she hadn't enjoyed it in the moment. Never before had she thought of Hunt in this way, but when the dream version of him was on top of her naked… oh God. That did something to her. Her insides were still on fire, and she had to do something to cool herself down. So she took off her top and started sliding down her shorts when she was stopped by a sleepy voice.
"Dani? What are you doing?" the person next to her said and switched on the light. It was Chris. Shit. "Danielle!" he exclaimed. "What—"
Danielle immediately covered her chest with her arms and stammered. "Oh, I… I forgot you were… I don't… I'm sorry."
She looked around for her top, her head still spinning from the dream. She'd known there was something, some sort of feelings she had for Hunt, but this? It was entirely unexpected and Danielle knew she wouldn't be able to look him in the eye tomorrow. Oh God, the way he had looked at her with those eyes in her dream…
"Here," Chris interrupted her thoughts and handed her the tank top she had just taken off. He didn't look at her, though, which she appreciated at first.
Until she had a thought. A horrible, no-good, really bad thought. Still, it was the only thing she could think of. "Chris," she said, lowering her voice.
"No." He shook his head, refusing to look at her. "Please, Danielle, I—"
"Chris," she repeated, her voice as low and seductive as she could make it. "I can't sleep."
He could help her. He could make those images go away, she knew. And he was such a fine specimen of a man. The perfect pick, really.
Tentatively, Chris looked up at her. He looked only at her face, no lower than that, but she could still see it. The lust, the want. It was there. And she was prepared to take full advantage of that.
"Can you help me?"
Chris swallowed hard. He was trying not to give in, she could tell. But she knew he would. Just a little bit more… Danielle lifted a hand, leaving her breasts exposed, and gently touched his cheek.
"Please, Danielle," Chris repeated, his resolve clearly crumbling. "You don't want this."
She moved closer, their lips now inches apart. Her voice was quiet when she spoke. "But I do."
And then he kissed her. Hungrily, passionately. It didn't help. So Danielle pulled him even closer, her nails digging into the skin on the back of his neck.
But just then, Chris put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her away. "No. We're not doing this." He shook his head violently. "I'm not a toy you can play with whenever you want. You can either be my friend, or we go our separate ways after this film is done. Because I'm not doing this again."
He was right. It wasn't fair to him. Still, Danielle felt anger flare up inside her.
But she wasn't angry with Chris. She was angry with herself for being so stupidly impulsive, and she was angry at her feelings. Or, rather, the fact that she couldn't quite decipher what she was feeling. She jumped out of bed and picked up the top Chris had tried to give to her earlier. She put it back on and, before he could say anything else, left the room. Her first thought was to go to the bathroom, but that was right next to Hunt's room, and she didn't want him to hear her cry if he happened to be awake. So she went downstairs instead and sat down on one of the sofas.
She was an idiot. Such a fucking idiot. If she kept this up, she wouldn't have any friends sooner rather than later. She'd already had multiple fights with Ethan this past week, contact with Addison was sporadic at best, and now she was fucking up her friendship with Chris.
And then there was this farce of a friendship with Hunt. No, they weren't friends. They could never be friends. Not after the way they had treated each other when she was a student. Not after all the harsh words exchanged, the ways she had disrespected him then. And certainly not after what had transpired just days ago. They may have had a moment then, but it was stupid to think that could mean they could be friends. No.
No, he had still tried to ruin her life, and that must have meant that he did, indeed, hate her. He probably just offered his friendship because he felt bad about it. And now here she was, dreaming about sleeping with him. What a fucking idiot she was!
Then she heard footsteps on the stairs, and she squeezed her eyes shut. No. No, she couldn't possibly face Hunt now. She hoped to God it wasn't him. When she opened her eyes again, relief washed over her. Followed by dread.
"Danielle," Chris said softly, not a trace of anger to be found. God, he was far too nice! "I'm sorry. Please just come back upstairs and let's talk about this."