The man behind the door
Jamie’s POV
The night smelled like champagne, camera flashes, and exhaustion.
I stood in the corner of the grand hall, half‑hidden behind a velvet rope, watching Aiden Vale glide across the red carpet like he was born in the spotlight. Hollywood’s golden boy, America’s sweetheart, the man who could make an entire theater fall in love with a single smile.
God, he looked perfect.
The tailored black suit hugged his broad shoulders and tapered along his lean waist, the faint gleam of the silk lapel catching the light each time he turned his head. His dark hair was slicked back just enough to look intentional, not stiff. And his face… I’d memorized it a thousand times in the dark, but tonight it belonged to the world.
Handsome. Glorious. Untouchable.
And yet, while he posed for flashing cameras and fans screamed his name, I knew the truth. That perfect jawline had been under my fingers. Those lips that smiled for the world had whispered my name like a prayer.
I adjusted the strap of the sleek leather bag on my shoulder, feeling the familiar weight of his iPad and backup phone inside. To anyone else, I was just his assistant—a shadow in a fitted suit. Someone to carry his things, manage his schedule, and disappear behind the scenes.
But Aiden’s glances told a different story.
Every few minutes, his gaze would flicker to me, quick as a heartbeat, I saw the spark in his eyes which clearly showed he wanted nothing more than to be free of this crowd and locked away with me, his eyes would randomly glance in my direction as though checking If I was still there. My chest tightened with something that felt like longing and pride.
I wanted him. God, I always wanted him. But tonight, after weeks of late‑night shoots and relentless press tours, that want was an ache in my bones.
And I knew he wanted me too.
That alone sent a quiet thrill through me, enough to make standing here in the dark worthwhile.
The red carpet felt endless, a blur of flashbulbs, handshakes, and endless requests for interviews or pictures. My job was to trail him seamlessly, to anticipate his needs before he even spoke them. I handed him water when his throat was dry, or when a fan tried to hand him a pen, I was there to take it.
By the time the premiere concluded and he’d signed the last poster, he flashed a charming smile for the final camera before we slid into the back of the SUV headed for the hotel, I could feel it radiating off him. His thigh gently brushed mine, deliberate enough to send heat curling through my stomach. He didn’t speak, and neither did I. At this point, words weren’t necessary. His security detail shut the door, muting the chaos of Hollywood outside.
He exhaled sharply, leaning his head back against the leather. “God, I thought that would never end.”
I chuckled softly, still buzzing from the energy of it all. “You looked like you were enjoying it.”
He cracked one eye open to glance at me, lips curving into a smirk. “I was enjoying looking at you pretending you weren’t jealous of all the attention.”
I rolled my eyes, heat blooming in my chest. “Jealous? Of what? The entire planet wanting a piece of you?”
He hummed, low and teasing. “Maybe. Or maybe you just want to be the only one who gets me.”
I didn’t answer, because the truth was written all over my face. I did want that. Desperately.
When we pulled up to the hotel, the world was waiting.
Paparazzi swarmed the entrance, flashbulbs exploding as his driver parked. I ducked low instinctively, the way I’d been trained to, as his security cleared a path. Cameras shouted his name, demanding more of him, refusing to let him go.
It took nearly fifteen minutes before the crowd thinned and his head of security signaled that it was safe to move. Only then did Aiden’s hand brush my sleeve, subtle but urgent, as he muttered under his breath, “Come on.”
We slipped through the side entrance, weaving through the quieter corridors of the hotel until the elevator doors slid shut, cutting us off from the world.
The moment the suite door clicked shut behind us, Aiden exhaled sharply, dropping the persona he’d worn all night. His shoulders slumped, the charming smile evaporating like mist. He turned to me,his eyes dark with a hunger I’d missed.
“Jamie…” he breathed, like my name was some sort of relief.
I didn’t wait. I crossed the room in three quick steps, grabbed his tie, and pulled him forward. His chest collided with mine, and I pressed him against the wall, the soft thud of his back hitting the panel sending a jolt through both of us.
“You’ve been staring at me all night,” I murmured against his jaw. “Acting like you didn’t want this.”
He shivered under my touch, his fingers curling into my jacket. “I… couldn’t. Cameras—”
“Cameras don’t matter here,” I cut him off, brushing my lips over his ear. “Here, you’re mine.”
He let out a soft, desperate sound, and that was all the permission I needed. I kissed him hard, tasting every ounce of the longing we’d been swallowing for weeks. His gave way for mine, eager and hungry, and I took control like I always did, claiming him with the heat he’d been starved for.
He melted into me, his hands were sliding up my back, clinging like he was falling and I was the only thing keeping him grounded.
“God, I missed this,” he whispered against my mouth.
“Missed me,” I corrected softly, my thumb brushing the sharp edge of his jaw. “Say it.”
His eyes fluttered closed, a faint flush creeping across his cheekbones. “…I missed you, Jamie.”
“Good.” I trailed kisses down his neck, feeling him tremble under the soft scrape of my teeth. “I want you to remember that when you’re out there smiling for everyone else. When they think they own a piece of you…” I pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, voice low and firm. “You belong to me here.”
“Yes,” he breathed, and there was no Hollywood star in that word—just the man who couldn’t stop needing me.
The kiss that followed was slower, heavier. Weeks of separation and late‑night longing poured into every slide of tongue, every scrape of teeth. His fingers threaded through my hair, tugging just enough to make me growl softly against his mouth.
I walked him backward toward the bed, my control never slipping, savoring the little gasps and stuttered breaths he gave me. When his knees hit the edge of the mattress, I pushed him down gently, leaning over him, pinning him in place with my gaze alone.
“You’re beautiful,” I murmured, and watched his chest rise faster. “And you’re mine.”
His hand reached up, his fingertips brushing my cheek. “I hate how much I need you.”
I smirked, letting the weight of my body press into his just enough to remind him who was in control. “I know, cause I want you too. He kissed me again, softer this time, lingering, his forehead pressed to mine.
His hands cradled my face like I was the only real thing he’d felt in a long time. “I hate that it’s like this. That I can’t…”
“Hold my hand in public?” I finished for him, my voice quiet but tinged with something sharp.
He closed his eyes. “One day.”
The world outside didn’t exist for a long while. Just the heat of our mouths, the soft drag of hands along familiar silk sheets, the quiet gasps breaking the silence of the suite.
It wasn’t just lust—it was a burn that had been denied too long, a collision of want and belonging. In that room, he wasn’t a star and I wasn’t his assistant.
I was the man who could bring him to his knees without a single word.
Hours might have passed—or minutes.
The city lights spilled in through the tall windows, He lay beside me,wrapped in my arms, our fingers laced together, his lips swollen from my kisses, his eyes heavy with something that always made my chest tight.
And then, faint and distant, there was a flash.
We didn’t notice.We were too wrapped up in each other, lost in the bubble we’d built to keep the world out.
But somewhere below, a camera caught a blurred silhouette of two men in an embrace. Two bodies tangled in the shadows.
And somewhere below, someone lowered their lens with a satisfied smile. This was the first crack in the world we’d been trying so hard to keep hidden.