Steele

by Kelly Gendron

  “Yes, Miss Rigsby, that is it.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  STEELE

  “You don’t need to carry me!”

  “You’re right, I don’t.” I grin down at the surprising little treat who dropped into my arms tonight. “But I want to.”

  She rolls her eyes just like my little sis, Lulu, does whenever I try to help her with anything. Yet another refreshing surprise from the relentless, sexy, determined, little go-getter I had to deal with earlier today on the set.

  I carry her down the long hall and stop in front of apartment A4. “Keys?”

  She digs through her purse that’s resting in her lap. When I hear the metal clink of keys, I bend down so she can unlock the door. I tap it with my foot, and the piece of thick wood standing between me and Jaylyn Rigsby’s home swings open. I take a quick glance around the sophisticated apartment, noting the modern art and the unique pendant lights dangling from the ceiling. I head toward the bright white sectional, something I clearly shouldn’t be sitting on—at least, not after a day’s work.

  “I’m not going to approve your stunts,” she says.

  I stop and peer down at her until it hits me. I laugh. “You think I’m helping you because I want you to sign off on some paperwork?”

  “I won’t do it.” She scowls with the same resolute puss she gave me all morning. Little Miss Relentless is back.

  “Good.” I let go of my laughter. “I don’t want you to.” I start for the sofa again. Man, she’s tough. “Maybe I’m just trying to be a good Samaritan. Did you ever think of that?”

  “Under different circumstances, I might believe you, but I know you want something from me.”

  “And”—I stop at the sofa and squint down at her, acutely aware of the softness in my arms—“you think approving my stunts is the only thing I could want from you?”

  “Yes. What else would you⸻” She blinks as her mouth hangs partially open.

  “Yeah, that’s it, babe.” I lower her to the cushions, keeping my eyes locked with her wide ones. “You let your mind wonder about that one.” I wink, gently releasing her soft body from my arms.

  How could she think that I wouldn’t want her? There’s no way this is one-sided. She’s gotta feel it. There’s a good amount of heat beneath us, and I can’t help but to rouse the flames by adding more wood to the fire. I felt the heat even at the hospital a cubicle distance away.

  At first, listening to her tell the doc her story intrigued me, but when I heard him say her name, it put a finger on the familiar breathy voice. When I opened the curtain, I tried to maintain my cool. I wasn’t ready for her, not in the black nighty barely covering her perfectly tanned body. And those tatts, fuck! What another sweet little surprise. She’s assertive and uptight, but there’s another side of Jaylyn Rigsby, and, like those tatts, she’s trying to hide it.

  Damn, I hate that I want to know more about her.

  “Nice place.” I nod, taking another look around her prestigious apartment. Like mine, it looks like no one lives in it, and everything is in its rightful place and shit. The difference, though, is my apartment is like that because I’m rarely home.

  “Thanks,” she says, readjusting on the sofa. She winces from moving her ankle too quickly. I almost jump to her aid, but her cute and dainty snarl warns me off.

  “Well, if you’re okay, I’ll go out to the car and get the crutches?”

  “Yes, please,” she quietly replies, eyes leveled on the open door.

  “You sure you’re comfortable? You don’t need anything?”

  “No.” Her shoulders drop a little, and she looks at me. “I’m fine.” A tiny, genuine smile tilts her lips, revealing a softer, more delicate side of her.

  Captivated by the sugarcoated smile, I give my brain a swift mental shake to get me moving toward the door. Crazy shit—all kinds of lewd and sexual things—race through my head as I race down the stairs to the car. Like imagining what’s under that hospital gown or what’s under that slinky black nighty, but as I race back up the stairs, I conclude that I’m not going to find out. I can’t take advantage of her. She’s got a wounded ankle, for fuck’s sakes, though I had considered what positions might work with such an injury.

  I set the crutches beside her on the couch and take another look around the place. Should I get her a glass of water? I wonder where the bathroom is and whether she will be able to get there on her own. Maybe, I should order her a pizza.

  “Thank you, Mr. Kane. You can leave now.”

  My eyes venture back to her tight smile. “Is it just me, or do you hate all stunt people?”

  “I don’t hate you, Mr. Kane.”

  “You just don’t like my choice of occupation.”

  “Without your occupation, I’d be unemployed.”

  “That doesn’t mean you agree with what I do.”

  “Hey, without a baby, there can be no babysitter.”

  “Are you comparing me to a child?”

  “Your job is to do dangerous things that an actor won’t, and my job is to keep you alive while you’re doing it.”

  “Listen, I’m not careless. I don’t rush into any stunts. I play them out in my head over and over again. I test equipment, measure shit, and weigh my options and the odds. I work it until I make it mine, then once I have it mastered up here”—I tap the side of my head—“I go for it.”

  “You can’t account for everything. Accidents do happen, and that’s where I come in. See, if you mess up, my company has to pay out a lot of money.”

  “Yes, accidents do happen, but that’s why I wait until I’m confident that I can make the stunt mine. I’m not trying to be the best at everything. I go after the stunts I know I can accomplish, and the ones that I can’t, I let them be.”

  “Let some other crazy asshole do them, is that it?”

  “Exactly.” All right, maybe she gets it.

  “Okay.” She looks down at her lap. “I’m not going to argue with you. It’s been a long day, and I’m tired.”

  Huh, I didn’t expect defeat to look so wrong on her. I think I like it better when she’s winning. I crouch down beside her, slide my hand under hers, and run my thumb over the diamond ring on her finger. “So, tell me, how long has this kept the unwanted ones away?”

  She stares down at our joined hands. “A few years,” she quietly responds.

  I sense her tension, but surprisingly, she remains in my grasp.

  “I see.” I watch my flesh mix with hers, feel her soft skin penetrate mine. “I get that this keeps the unwanted away, but what does it do for the wanted ones?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t met any yet.” She yanks her hand from mine, tucking it deep into the sofa cushion, and that’s when it hits me. She probably hasn’t been with a man since him. Not since the man who put that ring on her finger. What happened to him? How’d he die? Were they together long?

  Oh fuck, I shouldn’t let my mind wander. I shouldn’t care. I should say good night and bolt for the door. Instead, I tap her under the chin. “Well, allow me to introduce myself again.” I wait patiently for her eyes to connect with mine. “I’m Steele Kane.”

  “Nice to meet you, Steele.” Another genuine sweet smile touches her lips. “Thank you for bringing me home, but I think it’s time for you to go.”

  “Okay.” I grimace, having had enough of her conquered expression. “Fair enough.” I lean across her and grab the crutches. “I’ll leave once you can show me that you can get around with these things.” I stand and hold them out to her.

  She snatches the crutches from my hand and holds them as she was instructed at the hospital. She pushes off the sofa with one hand while holding the crutches in her other hand and stands. She then places the crutches under her arms, presses them to her sides, and manages to walk to the door and back.

  “There.” She smirks as she stops in front of me. Her face a little red.

  Unable to move, I gaze dow
n at her, and that customary heat rises between us.

  She glances up and down from my eyes to my lips. Her lids lower, and she fixates on my mouth. I fall closer and closer to her, taking my time, and right before I reach her lips, I stop. “No. Not yet,” I whisper.

  “What?” Her eyes flash to mine as though she just snapped out of the trance drawing us to that near kiss.

  “I’m still working you out in here, Jaylyn Rigsby.” I tap my head.

  “Well”—she closes her mouth and swallows as if she just took a huge gulp of me and swallowed me down hard—“you can go over it again and again in your head, but I’m one stunt you’ll have to let be.” She twists around, makes it back to the sofa, and sits down.

  “Why? Are you waiting for some other crazy asshole to make you his?”

  “No.” She lowers the crutches to the floor and flips her dark hair from her face. “Believe me, I learned my lesson the first time around when it comes to love. I want nothing to do with it.”

  “That’s good, Jay. I completely understand that, but rest assured, like alcohol and good decisions, me and love don’t mix well together, either. So there’s no need to worry about that here. Now, if it’s sex you’re thirsty for, then that’s something I can easily pour for you.”

  “I’m not looking to get involved.”

  “Nor am I. It’s called casual sex, and you don’t put your heart in it. Think of it like this. If you’re cold, you put a sweater on, right? If you’re hungry, you eat? Well, if you need sex, then … you call me.” I smile.

  “Again”—she smirks—“I’m not interested.”

  “Well, now, don’t be so rash on making a decision tonight. I’ll be here the entire week. You think about it, and while you’re doing that, I’ll keep working on you, and once I got you mastered up here”—I tap the side of my head—“I’ll take you on, Miss Rigsby.” I point at her. “You have my number, so don’t hesitate to call if you need anything.” I wink, not completely thrilled about leaving her alone in the apartment. Still, I find myself walking out the door.

  I get a sense Jaylyn Rigsby is perfectly capable of taking care of herself.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Exhausted from the four-and-a-half-hour flight from Chicago to California, I should’ve stopped at the hotel and dropped off my things, but too angry as to why I had to come here in the first place, I drag my suitcase behind me as I push the studio door open. I spot one of the cameramen from the Chicago site. If I’m right, his name is Chris. He lowers his equipment with a smile as I approach him.

  “Hi.” I return with a tight grin. “Steele Kane?”

  Without a word, he points to the back.

  “Thank you.” I nod and head toward the door, the muffled sound of rock music getting louder.

  I glance around, and with no one there to stop me, I open the door.

  Skin—sweaty, shiny, tattoo-covered flesh—flashes before my eyes, along with flexed and bulging muscles. Fists swing and legs kick as Steele and another man dance together in perfect rhythm with precise and controlled movements. It’s not the first time I’ve seen stunt men practice fight scenes, but this choreography is flawless. They’re good together, in sync. It looks as though they’re really kicking the shit out of each other.

  Seeing Steele’s body move in nothing but a pair of jeans, I grip the handle on my suitcase. I need to remember why I’m here, and that the sexy beast—sweating, grunting, and moving with such magnificent power and control—is the same asshole who made me leave my hometown to come back to this awful state. One I vowed I’d never return to.

  Steele spins around from a kick. His head sways back to miss a hit. His eyes lock with mine. A smile snakes across his dry yet appealing lips. His opponent’s movements slow as he glances over his shoulder at me and then back at Steele. When Steele nods at the bearded man, as if he can read his mind and maybe mine as well, the guy walks over to the speaker, shuts down the music, and silently leaves the room. He closes the door behind him, trapping me in the room with the barefooted beast who’s been haunting my dreams for the past few nights. With his glistening chest muscles flexing and releasing, arms swaying, and shoulders swaggering, Steele moves across the room toward me. From the dark messy hair to a rampant tattooed body, he’s undeniably sexy, and mouth-watering, pussy-wetting gorgeous. His dark eyes mount me, and I’m reminded that beyond all that crushing sex appeal is something else—maturity. When he looks at me, I don’t see a restless bull pawing at the ground, ready to pounce the first willing cow. No. Steele Kane is a patient man, one who knows what he wants and can remain in complete control while he goes after it. I’m just not sure I want to be the object of such desires.

  Shit! He makes me weak and wet, and in that order. And here, I thought I would’ve gotten him out of my system by binge-watching every movie he did stunts in while I was laid up with my ankle injury. When I couldn’t return to the set last week, I thought for sure that I’d lose my job, but I didn’t. Oh-ho, no! In fact, I got promoted, if you want to call it that, and I have Steele Kane to thank for it. Sexy or not, I loathe the man!

  He stops a few feet from me, still wearing that damn smug grin.

  I straighten my back and go after the one question that’s been driving me crazy since the moment I was informed I had to return to California. “Why’d you do it?”

  “Well, hello to you too, Miss Rigsby,” he says in that smooth, back-stroking voice.

  “Don’t give me that shit!” I glare up at him. “You tell me why you did it!”

  His eyebrows dent, and his head cocks back. “Did what?”

  Damn! He looks sincere! He could be acting. I’m sure the man has mastered that as well as everything else.

  “The stunts in Chicago, you did them exactly as I recommended, every single one. Why?”

  “Oh.” He shrugs. “Your suggestions were good.” He swipes the sweat from his forehead with a muscular forearm.

  “That’s why you did it?”

  “What other reason would I have?” Brows raised, he holds out a hand.

  “Ah …” My mouth drops open, and I follow his arm as it lowers, trying to come up with some other reason, some explanation just as I had the entire plane ride over, and just like then, I came up with nothing. Could he be telling the truth?

  “It’s nice to see you again, Jaylyn.” His eyes skim past my suitcase before stroking my body. “I missed you.”

  “What?” I blink. He missed me? Okay, what’s his deal? His lips twitch. Damn him and that sexy smile.

  “I was worried about you. Your ankle.” He glances down at my feet. “How’s it doing?”

  “It’s, ah … fine.” It was sore for three days, and then on day four, it was like I never fell on it. Coincidentally, that it was the same day I received my assignment for California.

  “That’s good.” He walks over to the window and grabs a bottled water from the sill. “Why are you here?” He twists off the cap and takes a swig, eyes pinned on me as he swallows. When I don’t respond, he smiles. “Oh, I get it.” He stops long enough to roll his eyes down the length of my body again! “You don’t have to say it.” He places the cap back on the bottle and twists, muscles undulating with each slight movement.

  “Say what?” I want to stop, but I can’t. My eyes stray over his naked chest.

  “That you missed me too.”

  “No. Not true.” I blink, wishing his rampant body away and praying for my eyes to behave. “I’m here because of the stunt you pulled in Chicago. My insurance company now thinks that I can manage you. They’ve sent me here to watch over you and your stunts until the movie is done.”

  “I see.” He takes a step toward me, invading my personal space. I remain calm, eyes heeding any temptation. I refuse to look at his naked, sweaty, muscular chest. I refuse. “Well, did you explain to them that I’m not a man who can be managed?”

  “No.” I raise my chin, ignoring the throb between my thighs. “I don�
��t know if you can be managed. I don’t know anything about you. I only know that you screwed me by following through with my proposals back in Chicago, and now, I’m stuck in this godforsaken place for the next few weeks.”

  “You don’t like California?” His eyebrows dent as though I’ve wounded him. Him!

  Oh, the poor baby. My feet are killing me. I have jet lag, and now, my panties are a little wet, but he’s going to try to make me feel bad? “No. I don’t like California.”

  “You like me, though?” He smiles big.

  I glare up at his gorgeous face, and maybe, just maybe under other circumstances, I could like him. “Ah, I have no feelings about you either way.”

  “Yeah”—he points a water bottle holding finger at me—“you do.”

  “No.” I wave a stern, unbending finger back at him. “No. I. Don’t!”

  “And,” he says, ignoring my insistent rebuttal, “I’m confident that within the next few weeks, you’ll discover that I am not a man who can be managed by anyone, Miss Rigsby.” He leans down, lowering his voice. “Handled, maybe, but not managed.”

  “I have no desire to manage or handle you.” I gaze into his near black eyes. “I’m here to do a job. Now …” I reach into my canvas tote, thankful for the eye break, and pull out the agreements. “Can you explain to me why you’re not doing all the stunt scenes? There’s a Cash Kane, I presume he’s of some relation, doing the car chase scenes, and a Barry Becker doing the underwater scene?”

  “Yes. Cash, or as my family calls him, Crash, is my little brother. He’s a retired NASCAR driver, and from time to time, he fills in for car stunts, and as stated in my agreement, I don’t do any type of water stunts.”

  “Why don’t you do water stunts?”

  He tilts his head. “Why do you hate California?”

  Curiosity quickly squashed, I’m not about to explain my hatred for this state. I shove the documents back in my bag. “I can’t insure Cash or Barry until I review their credentials.”

  “I’ll email you Barry’s, and tomorrow, I’ll take you to meet Crash; at which time, you’ll see for yourself that my baby brother is more than capable of performing the stunts.”