“Doesn’t get better than that, Blake,” Jim Greenwood said relief in his voice.
“We’re good!” came the call indicating there were no technical issues with the footage, and they wouldn’t need a second take.
“I was thinking about the car crash in the parking lot,” Jim remarked. “Maybe we should flip the car instead of crashing it into a telephone pole. Any thoughts?”
“Doesn’t make any difference to me,” Blake replied, “but a flip is more work to set up and will cost more.”
“I’ll think about it,” Jim frowned.
“You could have the pole fall on top of the car,” Blake suggested. “You’ll get the drama you want and it won’t cost as much as a flip. All I’ll need is a five point harness.”
“Blake, you’re a genius. That’s exactly what we’ll do. Thanks.”
“You betcha,” Blake smiled. “You need me for anything else?”
“Nope, you’re good to go. See you at the ranch tomorrow.”
“Yep.”
The following day they were going to start shooting at a location called the Paramount Ranch, an isolated area that had been used as an alien landscape for many of the original Star Trek episodes, as well as dozens of westerns. It was dry, desolate and rocky, and offered miles of open space in the sprawling metropolitan city.
Ambling back to his chair he picked up his bag, and as he headed from the soundstage towards the parking lot, Josh caught up with him.
“Big day, and that last gag was incredible.”
Gag was the term stuntmen used when referring to a stunt, and Josh loved using the jargon.
“I’m not crazy about working with fire,” Blake admitted, “but it went well. You did good today! I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Okay, Blake, thanks, call me if you need me.”
He watched Josh jog away, then pulling his phone from his bag he saw he had a text from his agent, Harry Anderson, and a second later, he was shocked to see he also a text from Belinda. Opening it up he couldn’t believe what it said.
Sorry about the phone call. Totally embarrassed. Would it be possible to meet at the cafe later today, around 4 p.m.?
Bewildered but pleased he immediately sent back his acceptance.
“Women, I swear,” he muttered as he stood up to leave. “I wonder if she’s always so indecisive. I’ll soon spank that out of her.”
Just the thought sent his cock to life, and with a Cheshire Cat grin he walked outside and headed to his car, but the sound of someone calling his name stopped him. Turning around he spotted one of the set designers running towards him carrying her iPad. Her name was Angela. Blake had always liked her. She was smart and funny and knew her stuff.
“Hi, Angela. What’s up?”
“You!” she exclaimed.
“Me? What are you talking about?”
“You don’t know? What have you been doing all day?”
“Leaping through flames,” he replied with a grin, “why?”
“Look!” she exclaimed shoving the tablet at him.
Taking it from her hand he stared at the screen; his image was staring back at him, and above his face he saw the headline.
HOLLYWOOD HERO. Risking his life, stuntman Blake Berenson came to the rescue of retired Hollywood costume designer, Doris Handleman.
“What the hell?” he frowned lifting his eyes off the screen and staring back at her.
“You tell me,” she laughed. “You’re the hero. It’s all over the place. I’ll bet Harry’s phone will be ringing off the hook for interviews.”
“That’s probably why I have a text from him,” he replied. Getting that message from Belinda threw me more than I thought. Wait. Did Belinda hear about this? Is that why she wants to see me? Am I suddenly more appealing because I’ve just been labeled a hero?
Chapter Seven
It was almost 4 p.m., and as Belinda zipped her BMW into the cafe parking lot she anxiously scanned the area to see if Blake had arrived. There was no sign of a motorbike, but a gleaming white Porsche 911 was parked nearby.
A Porsche, I can see him driving a Porsche, though he’s tall. It wouldn’t be easy for him getting in and out of that thing. What am I thinking? Am I so nervous that I’m wondering about him being too tall for a car? I guess I am, and that Porsche might not even be his. Get a grip girl!
Checking herself in the visor mirror, she ran her fingers through her hair, wiped a speck of mascara from below her eye, then taking a deep breath she stepped out in the parking lot. Peering at the cafe window she didn’t see anyone sitting at the table they’d previously shared, and feeling slightly disappointed she moved quickly across to the door. Pushing it open she glanced around, and seeing only a few customers, none of whom were Blake, she walked across to the counter.
“Hi there, what can I get you?”
The barista was young and perky, and Belinda found the friendly face reassuring.
“I believe she’ll have a latte with extra whipped cream.”
Belinda jumped, and spinning around she found Blake standing behind her.
“Um, yes, that’s right,” Belinda stammered.
“For you, Sir?”
“A double espresso.”
“This is on me,” Belinda declared hastily pulling her wallet from her bag.
“I’m bigger than you,” he grinned passing a twenty-dollar bill to the barista. “You’re welcome to fight me for it, but you’d lose.”
“But I—”
“Anything to eat?” the barista interrupted.
“Two of your best muffins,” he smiled. “You choose.”
“Thank you,” the girl smiled. “I’ll bring everything to your table.”
Belinda couldn’t help but notice the sparkle in the young girl’s eye as she stared at Blake. Glancing up at him Belinda could see he was taking the subtle flirtation in stride, not giving anything back but maintaining his friendly, warm demeanor.
“I love that this place has table service,” Blake remarked as he collected his change.
“Yes, I do too,” Belinda replied, and you’re being incredibly nice considering I told you to take a hike this morning. Maybe this won’t be so tough after all.
“Same table?” Blake asked.
“Yes, sure,” Belinda nodded.
They settled across from each other, but faced with having to explain why she’d called him earlier that day, she found herself unable to lift her gaze from the tabletop.
“Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind?” Blake said softly.
“I’m not sure where to start,” she stammered. “I feel like an idiot.”
“At the beginning,” he suggested, “that’s always worked for me.”
“Um, well, I guess the beginning was when my phone rang around six this morning,” she sighed, and haltingly she told him what had happened at the hospital.
Though he was quietly listening, Blake’s mind was swimming.
This is making sense, but it can make sense and still not be the whole truth. I like her, I really like her. Maybe this is like running through flames, maybe I need to have more faith. I can understand how the drama of her chaotic morning caused her to have a knee-jerk reaction to my work. At least she was brave enough to get back in touch, but was it because of the hero thing?
“So you see,” she finished, “after the drama this morning, the thought of going out with someone who crashes cars for a living freaked me out.”
“I understand how something like that could throw you,” he said warmly, shaking himself from his thoughts. “I’m glad you reconsidered and got back in touch.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Berenson? Sorry to interrupt.”
He’d been so focused on Belinda and her story he hadn’t noticed the woman and small boy approach their table.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“My son, Jeremy, he wants to know if he can have your autograph.”
“Hi, Jeremy, you want my autograph?” he smiled. “I’d
be delighted.”
As his mother reached into her handbag and withdrew a notepad and pen, Blake glanced across at Belinda. Her look of puzzled surprise filled him with relief. It was obvious she’d not heard the news.
You’re a nurse, not an award-winning actress. What a relief. You don’t know what happened last night. You really did just have a crappy morning and overreacted.
“I hope I’ll be as brave as you when I grow up,” the little boy said shyly as his mother handed Blake the notepad. “I watch out for my little sister when we’re at school.”
“What a good brother you are,” Blake smiled. “I’ll tell you what, I have some photos at home. If you give me your address I’ll sign one of those and send it to you. Would you like that?”
“Really? Mom, can he?”
“Of course, Mr. Berenson, that’s very kind of you,” the woman smiled, and taking the pad and paper she jotted down her information and tore off the page.
“Please, call me Blake,” he grinned. “Mr. Berenson is my father.”
The humor broke the nervousness of the mother and boy, and even Belinda found herself giggling at the comment. Blake continued chatting with them, but when the young barista arrived with the muffins and their coffee, Jeremy’s mother took it as her sign to leave.
“Blake, thank you again, we must be on our way.”
“You’re most welcome. Goodbye, Jeremy.”
“Bye,” the little boy grinned. “Thank you.”
Belinda watched the mother and son leave the cafe, then turned to Blake with a quizzical expression.
“Do you have a fan club I don’t know about? Can I join? Are you going to tell me what that was all about, or am I being completely stupid?”
“No, I don’t have a fan club,” he chuckled, “and you’re not being completely stupid. Now it’s my turn. Do you often have spontaneous moments of muddled thinking, or was this morning an aberration?”
“Um, I guess, if I’m being honest…”
“Yes?”
“If I’m tired, or wired, or both, like I was after my shift, I am prone to shooting from the hip, but isn’t everyone?”
“No, I don’t think so. Are you still wired and tired?”
“A bit. I’d be less wired if I knew, um, if I’m forgiven,” she murmured dropping her eyes.
“Of course you’re forgiven,” he said, then lowering his voice he added, “and I know a way to alleviate your stress, though...”
“Though what?” she asked feeling brave enough to lift her gaze.
“We both know why we met up.”
“Uh, yes,” she mumbled feeling a blush cross her face.
“Not meaning to steal your line,” he said, “but if I’m being honest...”
“If you’re being honest, what?” she pressed as her butterflies began their dance.
“I can certainly forgive you, but I’m not sure I can let what you did go unpunished, and taking that a step further, your punishment would also alleviate your stress, would it not?”
His words hung in the air, almost visible, and Belinda tried to ignore the unnerving quiver that rippled down her spine.
“I’ll tell you what,” he said quietly, “you go on home, and let me know what you think—”
“What I think?” she interrupted.
“Putting it plainly, do you want me to punish you and relieve all that anxiety? You can email me your answer later, and we can take things from there. Agreed?”
“Uh, no,” she stammered.
“I see,” he frowned.
“No, you don’t see. I don’t want to wait because I might change my mind, and I don’t want to change my mind. Can we, uh…”
“Are you asking me to take you back to my place?”
Dust devils swirling in her stomach, she slowly nodded her head.
“If you don’t have to be, uh, somewhere, or, uh, I mean, if you—” and am I jumping the gun again? We just met, but I want to. I want to so badly.
Standing up he grabbed her elbow, and without a thought to anyone around them he pulled her to her feet and into his chest, hugging her tightly. When he heard a soft moan, and felt her body sink into him, he didn’t hesitate.
“Let’s get out of here,” he murmured, and taking her hand he led her out the door.
Chapter Eight
A few minutes later she was following his Porsche over the canyon road, and as she navigated the sharp bends she thought the drive would never end. When he finally turned down a long driveway she was almost relieved, but then she caught her breath as his house came into view; it was a startling two-story Tudor.
Good grief, that’s some house, and it’s so private here.
She was still gazing at the impressive home when he opened her car door, and as she climbed out he put an arm around her shoulders.
“Your house,” she mumbled, “it’s so beautiful.”
“It’s my castle,” he replied as he guided her forward, “and there’s something you need to know.”
“I guess I should ask what that is,” she muttered. As if I’m not nervous enough. Something I need to know? Please! I know enough! I know I’m about to be spanked and it’s been forever. I don’t know if I’ll be able to stand it.
“When you walk through the door,” he began, “you lose your vote, except for one thing.”
“I lose my vote?”
“Yep, I’m King of my Castle.”
“What’s the one thing?”
“Orange and red.”
“Orange and red? I don’t understand.”
“Orange means caution, red means stop. Those are your safe words.”
The dust-devils transformed into F1 tornadoes, and she leaned against his strong, muscled arm.
“You got it?” he asked.
“Uh-huh,” she managed.
“You still want to come in?”
“Yes, no, yes,” she replied.
“I need to hear three yes’s,” he said firmly.
“Yes, yes, yes,” she whispered.
Walking up the front steps he slid his key in the lock and pushed open the door. She found herself standing in a black and white tiled foyer staring at a suit of armor.
“My gosh, I love this place,” she murmured.
“Thanks, so do I,” he grinned.
The floors were dark hardwood, but the sweeping staircase in front of her had a burgundy carpet runner with brass rods at the base of each step. Taking her hand he led her forward, and as they walked slowly up the stairs she was almost overwhelmed by the majesty of his home.
This place is amazing. Why is he still single? He’s so good looking, and so... everything. How can he not have a girlfriend? I wonder if he’s just broken up with someone. Shit. Maybe he’s a total player. Shit. This could be bad. Maybe I shouldn’t do this.
They’d reached the landing, and as they turned down a wide hallway she stared at the paintings gracing the walls. They were tasteful and looked expensive, and when she saw the arched double doors ahead, she swallowed back her nerves and shook herself.
I want this, I need this. If it’s a one time thing, then fine. I just need to take it in stride. Be grateful that I’m finally going to be over a hunky guy’s lap. A really sweet hunky guy.
“Are you okay?” he asked sensing her reticence.
“Yes, it’s just...”
“A bit nerve-racking?”
“Uh-huh,” she managed, “but apparently you’re a hero, so I’m guessing you’re not an axe murderer.”
“No axes this week,” he chuckled dropping her hand and putting an arm around her. “You can change your mind.”
“I don’t want to change my mind,” she said gazing up at him. “You were right. I need this.”
“Why do I think it’s been a while?”
“Because it has,” she sighed.
“The drought is over,” he declared as they reached the double doors.
He pushed them open, and as she walked inside she took in the stately but com
fortable room that greeted her.
“Why am I surprised? Of course you would have an amazing four poster bed. This really is a castle.”
“I have a thing for Merry Old England,” he said softly as he turned her to face him, “and at the risk of sounding corny, I think I’m starting to have a thing for you.”
His lips were on hers before she could take a breath, and as his arms engulfed her she felt her body melt against him. A needy passion engulfed them, sweet but strong, yielding but demanding, and when he broke away she was limp in his arms.
“I’m going to spank you hard,” he whispered.
“Why?” she gasped.
“First, because I want to, second because you want me to, and third, and perhaps most importantly, because as you just said, you need me to. Are you ready?”
“Uh, yes,” she mumbled dropping her eyes.
Taking her hand he led her slowly to the bed, sat down, and gently pulled her over his lap. Smoothing his hand over her curves, he knew she could feel his fingers through the thin fabric of her skirt. He continued his reassuring caress until she settled, then raising his palm he began to slap, moving from cheek to cheek in a methodical, predictable rhythm.
Belinda had buried her face in her hands. Though mortified she felt an intense relief, and as the sting increased and her small utterances of pain transformed into loud ouches, she felt the warm delicious flood between her legs.
I’ve missed this so much, even more than I thought. I feel like…like…this is home. It’s crazy, why do I love this? Why?
Her squirming grew, and he paused to stroke her back, but only for a moment, and when her skirt came up and her panties were slid down, she cringed into the comforter.
“Your ass is gorgeous,” he purred, “and already a lovely shade of red.”
The spanking resumed, his smacks falling with greater alacrity and force, and as the minutes ticked by her wriggles became gyrations, her mutterings became yelps, and he knew it was time to stop. Tenderly massaging her skin, rubbing away the burn, he pulled her up, and stretching them both across the bed he brought her tenderly into his arms. Nestling against him, her bottom hot and tingling, she let out a huge sigh.
The Stuntman Page 4