by Skye Jordan
“For an amazing woman,” Jeff finished with a charming grin. “I’ll let you discuss it with Chad. If you’re interested, we can finalize the nitty-gritty details later. And, just so you know, whatever’s happening between you and Troy—”
She shook her head. “Nothing’s—”
“As long as you can both handle it and do your jobs, it’s fine with me. Troy’s a really, really great guy. Maybe a little wild, but it’s nothing a good woman couldn’t cure.” He tapped a thick sheaf of papers lying on the coffee table. “This is the revised script. I’ve highlighted your part. I’d like you to take a look at it and get back to me—either way—within the next couple of days. I know it’s short notice, but after talking with Chad, it sounds like it would fit into our production schedule and your tour dates. If you decide not to take it, we’ll need to revisit the part to see if we want to keep it and cast someone else or just drop it.”
“I understand. I’m honored, Jeff. Really. Thank you for considering me.”
“My pleasure.” Slapping his thighs, he pushed to his feet and offered his hand to Chad. “I’d better get back and see what my hellions are up to out there. Troy and his crew can kick up some serious dust when someone’s not watching them. Their practical jokes are legendary.”
Giselle stood and walked Jeff to the door with Chad. There, Jeff turned and shook Giselle’s hand. “I hope you’ll join us. And I can’t lie when I tell you it would mean the world to my daughter. I’ll be a hero in her eyes, and, well, at her age, anything I can do to connect is a blessing.”
She smiled. “Thanks again.”
They said their good-byes, and when Giselle closed the door, she held on to the handle for a long moment before finally facing Chad with a hand pressed against her pounding heart. “Wow.”
“Yeah, wow.” He pushed his hands into his pockets. “About this Troy…”
Giselle’s eyes fell closed, and her shoulders sagged. “Such a long, painful story.”
“Not too painful to take the part, I hope.” His voice was deadly serious. “Not only is it exactly the exposure you need to get the sponsors to drop to their knees and drool at your feet, but it officially marks you as a triple threat in the industry.”
She frowned at the title used for someone who could sing, act, and model. “I’ve never modeled, and I’m not sure you could consider messing around with a stranger while on camera acting.”
“What do you think all those photo shoots for album covers and magazine spreads were? And if you’re in the film, you’re acting.” His brows shot up. “They’re also willing to pay you a nice hundred grand for the cameo. And since Gloria had no part in securing it,” he said of Giselle’s agent, “her fee won’t come off the top.”
A hundred grand. That was a lot of money, but not enough to sway her decision. That insight made her realize just how far she’d come from the dicey bars where she’d sung for hours and walked away with forty bucks.
The same dicey bars where Troy sat for the same long hours, listening to her sing, acting as agent, manager, bodyguard, and support system all wrapped into one. And what did he have to show for it?
“You should be bouncing off the walls, Giselle.”
“I know. I’m excited. I am.”
“But…?”
But her heart was in shreds.
She wandered back into the living room, sat on the edge of the sofa, and picked up the script, where the movie title, Full Throttle, stood out in big, bold print. “No buts. I’ll do it.”
Troy walked out the burn in his legs as he waited for the cameramen to move equipment. “You’ve shot this damn thing from every angle imaginable,” he told John, the assistant director. “What more do you want?”
The cave felt like a pressure cooker today. The combination of Las Vegas sun and body heat from the crew made the space smolder, and after Troy’s repeated sprints, jumps, and falls, he was about ready to pass out.
John answered without taking his gaze off the screen where he watched a replay of Troy’s latest fall. “There’s a cable shadow on that last drop. Just do it exactly the same. The new camera angles will take care of it.”
Keaton was on his knees inspecting the decelerator while Duke scrutinized the grounding cables—the key safety measures that kept Troy from splattering all over the rock formations at the bottom of that damn cavern. But he couldn’t say he cared all that much anymore. Given how he’d felt since he’d last seen Giselle at the mixer, dying in this cave doing what he loved most wouldn’t be the worst way to go.
“Stop your pacing for a minute.” Casey came at him with makeup in one hand, a brush in the other, and started patching up the foundation covering the tattoo on his chest and shoulder. “And while you’re at it, stop sweating.”
Troy would have laughed if his gut wasn’t twisted into a knot. “I’ll get right on that.”
“Becca and I still want a redo on the club with you,” she said, voice lowered.
No. God, no. “I won’t be going back.”
Her big brown eyes lifted to his. “Why not?”
He ignored her question and forced memories of the club out of his mind by focusing on catching his breath.
Keaton wandered toward him, offering a cold bottle of water. “My side’s good.” He frowned past Troy’s shoulder. “But Duke doesn’t look happy.”
Troy finished the water and crushed the bottle, tossing it in a nearby trash can before glancing at Duke. His fellow Renegade wasn’t inspecting the cables. He was scanning the cave floor. To retain the cave’s structural integrity, Ed and his crew had drilled a metal post deep into the rock as the attachment site for all stunt cables. Duke scrutinized the insertion site.
“What’s up?” Troy asked.
Duke shook his head. “Where’s Ed?”
That was not what Troy wanted to hear.
Keaton keyed the radio. “Ed. Need you in the stunt cave ASAP.”
After a moment, Ed came back, “On my way.”
Troy wandered toward Duke, ignoring Casey’s demand that he hold still. “What’s wrong?”
“That’s new.” Duke straightened but kept his hard frown on the ground and pointed to a small crack originating at the metal’s edge. The gap was hairline thin and only extended three or four inches toward the cave wall, something no one else would have noticed. “It’s probably nothing, but I want Ed to look at it.”
“Turn toward me,” Casey said, pulling on his arm.
Ed’s shadow darkened the entry to the cave. “What’s up?”
As Duke, Keaton, and Ed discussed the crack, Casey used an airbrush to add shadow and depth to the foundation covering his ink, making his tattooed skin look like it had never seen a needle.
“No, that’s normal,” Ed was saying. “There will be some superficial cracks from the stress. I’m surprised we didn’t see them earlier. They don’t interfere with the cave’s integrity or the stunt’s safety.”
At this point, Troy didn’t give a fuck. He’d been dead inside from the moment he’d seen that holy-shit-what-have-I-done look on Giselle’s face when she’d realized who he was and what she’d done with him—as if fucking him had been the worst possible thing that could have happened in her life.
He checked the straps on his harness, wondering if he should just unfasten them and end it all here and now. The only reason he didn’t was because he knew Keaton and Duke would blame themselves.
“Come on, guys.” Troy paced and stretched and jumped on his toes to keep his muscles warm. “Let’s get going.”
“We’re all set,” came from the lead cameraman.
“Hold on a sec, Hank.” Jeff’s voice dragged Troy’s gaze toward the cave entrance again, where the director’s silhouette cut out the Vegas sunlight at his back. And he wasn’t alone.
As the posse stepped into the set lighting, Troy’s gaze locked on Giselle, where she stood at the center of the group. His heart dropped to his stomach the same way Troy had been dropping to the bottom of that ca
vern all morning.
Her hair was in a ponytail, and she pulled mirrored aviator sunglasses from her eyes, tucking one arm of the glasses into the white tank beneath a breezy white blouse. Faded blue jean cutoffs showed off her shapely, tan legs. Her sweet little feet were slipped into cute sandals, her toes painted pink.
Goddamn she looked like the Ellie he used to know. The Ellie he’d fallen head over heels for the day she walked into their foster home, with a chip on her shoulder and a duffle filled with attitude, and even now, after everything that had happened, his gut twisted like warm taffy at the sight of her.
But he reminded himself she’d proven to him, both at the club and at the mixer, that she wasn’t that girl anymore. She might still have the chip and the attitude, both now polished and carefully camouflaged, but the sweet, giving, nurturing soul that had been hidden beneath… He hadn’t seen any sign of those.
He’d figured she would get a tour of the set at some point, but had hoped he wouldn’t be here when that happened. He put on his dented armor and planted his hands at his hips, too aware of his sweaty, dirty, disgusting state.
He tensed his gut against the pain he sensed coming and asked Jeff, “What’s up?”
“You already know Giselle, of course,” Jeff said, then moved on to the man beside her, leaving him to wonder what she’d told Jeff. “This is Chad Moore, her manager. These two burly guys are her security detail courtesy of the Mirage. This pretty little thing”—he laid a hand on the shoulder of the woman Troy had seen with Keaton at the mixer—“is her personal assistant.”
Giselle’s gaze held on his chest, her expression just this side of sheepish.
“Brought the whole entourage, huh?” His question or his brusque tone got her to lift her eyes to his, and even in the dim lighting, he could see a storm brewing there. Just for the hell of it, he added a little lightning strike. “You’re just in time to watch me throw myself down a cavern. I’m sure that will make your day.”
He turned and set up at the takeoff point. “Let’s do this.”
“Everyone quiet,” John called.
Troy shook out his arms, his hands, cracked his neck, shifted from foot to foot. He couldn’t stand still. Needed to work out some of this anxiety. It helped him home in on the present. Helped him focus. Something he needed now more than ever.
The slate kid jogged into Troy’s path, called out the scene and the take and snapped the slate. The sound ricocheted off the rock and echoed in Troy’s head.
“Ready…” John called.
Troy lowered his gaze to the stone floor, secured his footing, and crouched like a runner at the starting line.
“And…action.”
Troy pushed his body into a sprint. Strong. Solid. Measured. He felt good. In control. On target. He hit his launch point and lunged with all the strength in his legs. As soon as his feet left the ground, hyperfocus kicked in and time slowed. In split-second increments, he went through the necessary steps to execute the fall. His gaze surveyed the cavern’s opening, he spread his arms wide to slow his flight, and gravity sucked him straight into the middle of the shaft.
Down, down, down… Air rushed past him, blowing his hair, cooling his skin, whizzing past his ears. His blood sang with the adrenaline. He loved free fall. No ties, no restriction, no past, no future, just now. Just that very moment. A moment when adrenaline and thrill and triumph mixed, producing a few blessed seconds of utter euphoria.
The same euphoria he felt when he was tangled up, body and soul, with Giselle.
Only Giselle.
The decelerator kicked in. The initial pull on his body always knocked the wind from him in a grunt. He came to a stop midair with only one thing filling his mind.
I want her the fuck out of my head.
“And, cut.” John’s voice echoed through the cave.
Troy let his arms fall. Let his eyes close. The euphoria evaporated, and darkness settled in.
“Wrap it.” Those words meant all the takes were good, the editors could piece together the stunt in various views, and he wouldn’t have to run this again, which pleased him one way and disappointed him in another.
The machine holding him suspended now pulled him up, and he found himself hoping Giselle and her groupies were gone by the time he reached the cave floor. But when the lip of the cavern came into view, and the decelerator stopped, they were all still there.
Fuck.
Troy used his legs to swing himself toward the edge and caught Keaton’s hand. His buddy pulled him in, and Troy climbed from the cavern to all the typical high-five fanfare that accompanied the wrap of every successful stunt—a reaffirmation of life for the stuntman, a celebration of good work for the crew. But the sense of satisfaction Troy always felt at this point in a stunt was absent. He felt more dead than alive with Giselle looking on.
Sweat slid down his face, neck, and chest. He needed space. Needed quiet. Needed air. Wanted to get out of this goddamned tomb and away from Giselle, who looked like a fucking goddess in those cut-offs, but Jeff approached, his hand out. “Kick-ass as always.”
Troy caught a towel one of the crew members tossed to him and wiped down as he shook Jeff’s hand. “Thanks.”
Then Jeff wrapped his arm around Troy’s shoulders and walked him toward the group. This kind of behavior generally meant Jeff had an idea he wanted to put past Troy. Some freaky new change to the script he’d whipped out of his ass overnight, and one that usually threw a wrench into the lives of the cast and crew, who were already escaping the cave as if they knew what was coming.
Giselle had her arms crossed, and she was leaning into one hip, but she didn’t look comfortable. Considering how she’d suffered from claustrophobia most of her life after being stuffed away in closets, cellars, crawl spaces, or car trunks whenever her mother was high or sick of being a parent—which was just about every day—Troy was surprised she was still here at all.
“I wanted to tell you that Giselle’s agreed to do a cameo for us.” It took a second for Jeff’s words to register. When they did, Troy’s stomach dropped. Again.
He was destined to be tortured. Served him damn right. This was karma coming back to bite him in the ass. “Really.”
“She’s going to play Guzman’s love interest. We’ll be integrating her into several scenes over the next week.”
Which meant Troy got to think about Guzman’s hands and mouth all over her for the next week. Perfect.
He settled his gaze on Giselle and tried to act like the adult he should be by now instead of the two-year-old who was throwing a tantrum inside him. “I hope it will get you where you want to go.”
Her brows pulled in a little frown.
“So…” Jeff’s eyes narrowed on Troy’s. “This won’t be a problem?”
He shrugged, but he never let his gaze leave Giselle’s. “There would only be a problem if she was doing stunts, because in stunt work, trust is required. But since she’s not…”
He trailed off and held his hands out wide.
Jeff’s face broke into a cautious smile. “I’m glad to see this is going to work out for everyone.” He gestured toward the cave opening behind them and spoke to the group. “Let’s stop to cool down and grab a drink in the dining hall.”
They all turned, everyone but Giselle, who kept her gaze on Troy’s.
“Giselle?” Chad said, waiting by the cave entrance.
She glanced over her shoulder. “I’ll catch up.”
When she turned back, Troy crossed his arms and set his feet wide, prepared for just about anything. But he was glad John had wrapped that stunt, because now Troy wouldn’t have to spend any more time trying to focus on falling down a very tight rock hole without breaking his skull when the only thing filling his mind were flashes of images from their night together at the club.
She pushed her hands into the front pockets of her shorts. The move made her look ridiculously innocent and country-girl fresh. “You probably already know Jeff saw us at the mixer
.”
He shrugged.
“Based on our kiss, he’s convinced I’m the perfect person to add passion to the film.”
And what the hell did he say to that? He kept his mouth shut as the last of the crew took a break topside.
Troy found it insanely painful to just stand there with her. Pretend to be normal. Pretend to have a normal conversation when there was so much intense history between them. When she was the only person he ever had—or ever would—give himself over to, heart and soul. When she still owned both.
She heaved an uneasy sigh as her gaze darted around the cave before landing on him again. “I realize I might have overreacted at the mixer, and I’m sorry about that. I’m still really confused about how I feel and what I think about all this. And I don’t have the time or the…” she gestured to her head, struggling for a description, “brain power, I guess, to work through it all right now. But I don’t want any more conflict between us. It’s too complicated to explain now, but this part is really important to me, and it’s going to be hard enough as it stands. Stress with you would push me over a very brittle edge.”
Anger and pain collided, eclipsing rationale. “A word of advice, El. Think before you talk, because when you don’t, things like what you just said come out, and eventually you’ll piss off someone who really does matter to you.”
He turned his back on her and ripped the harness open. The harsh sound of Velcro echoed through the cave.
“What did I say?” she demanded, sincerely upset.
“It’s all about how you said what you said, and what you didn’t say.” He dropped the harness into a pile and turned on her. He felt raw and gutted and wanted to be anywhere but here, talking to anyone but Giselle. “You just apologized for bitching me out only because you want something, yet I’m not important enough to waste your valuable time trying to figure out how you feel about seeing me again, trying to decide how you feel about me now or even to explain why this thing you want is so important to you. Of course, you fully expect me to comply with your not-so-cleverly-disguised attempt at manipulation. I’m your key source of stress, and I could ruin everything for you. That’s what you said.”