I leaned against the wall and contemplated how the hell I was going to get out of this. Who knew a one night stand could turn into such a hot mess so fast? Elise was beautiful, that was a given, with her long limbs and body made for the big screen. But she was out of her mind—clinically diagnosed and everything, though no one had mentioned that to me until it was too late—and had quickly turned into something of a stalker when I broke it off with her. She thought I’d knocked her up, which I didn’t. And then she thought she lost a child. When she’d never been pregnant in the first place. If she had, I would have done the right thing, taken care of my kid. But the doctor’s report had shown quite clearly she was not pregnant nor ever would be. She was infertile.
Harmless Elise might be, but she was seriously causing me second thoughts about sleeping with someone in our industry again. The red head crossed my mind. Nope, not even her.
“There’s no way I’m going to get past her, the stairs are on the far side of the room. Damn, I’m surprised she didn’t see me, she’s got a sixth sense when it comes to tracking me down,” I muttered, as my eyes searched for a solution. It wasn’t a matter of bravery, more that I’d tried dealing with Elise, and every time I’d tried to be logical, to send her on her way, she had a meltdown that made Chernobyl look like playtime at the park. On my last movie set, I’d almost lost my contract because of her, because she’d gone around bad mouthing me to the director, talking about my ‘man whoring’ ways and ‘how could I do that to her when we were engaged.’ Which we most certainly were not. I felt bad for her, but not at the expense of my own sanity and livelihood.
Her voice echoed out to us through the thin door, her voice growing in intensity with each word. “I know he’s here. I want to talk to him. Right now!”
“Shit,” I whispered, grimacing. This was not the kind of distraction I was looking for. Not in the least.
Grabbing the belt attached to the ratchet, I didn’t think twice. “Run it.” I shouted at Hugh as I bolted for the ledge. I wrapped the belt around my arms—there wasn’t time for more than that—and leapt from the roof. In mid air, I spun to look back and caught a glimpse of Elise’s blonde curls before I fell below the roof line, a grin plastered on my face. It occurred to me rather belatedly that perhaps that wasn’t the smartest move I’d ever made. As the ratchet line spun out, the sharp zinging noise as the coils unraveled filled my ears, competing with the pounding of my heart for my attention. The line snapped taut and jerked me at high speed toward the outer wall of the building. Though the impact I was about to experience against the wall wasn’t my main concern.
The big problem I had?
The belt I hung onto was slipping out of my grip. My body tensed for the impact, and a moment of fear mixed with the sweat trickling down my spine before I squashed it. These moments, where death hovered, they felt like eternity. Each beat of my heart slowed, and I could see the individual cracks in the adobe wall, count the number of flies as they clung to the building. This was when I was truly alive.
Fear Nothing.
And then things sped up again, the sharp sound of air whipped past my face, snatching at my hair and clothes, the beat of my heart thrown into overdrive as I hovered on the line between life and death. Nothing was ever as sweet as this.
“Son of a bitch.”
I bore down, clenching my hands into fists over the material, even as it slid away from me. I had less than two inches of the belt left—and then I hit the wall. I took the brunt of the impact on my legs, but it jerked my hands hard. My left hand slid from the belt completely and I heard the small crowd below let out a gasp as I dangled from one arm and barely an inch of the belt my right hand still gripped. I bounced and rolled to one side before I slowed to a stop, hanging onto the belt—just barely.
Teeth grit, I reached up and grabbed the belt, readjusting both hands, not thinking about how high up I was or how bad it would be if I fell. No point in that; it either happened or it didn’t. I learned early on in the stunt business that if you started to worry about the risks, if you tried to circumvent the fears, that was when you took the hardest falls. No, that wasn’t the truth: I learned it before ever getting into the business—at my father’s hands. Death will come or it won’t. You can’t change what will be. No use fighting it, just live hard and never look back.
However, this time, I did look down. There were still a good two stories left to go—no problem at all.
“You okay?” Hugh called to me. Grinning up at him, I laughed, feeling the blood pump through me as my heart fed on the adrenaline, loving the rush no matter how many stunts I did. “Shit, man, I’ve taken worse hits falling out of bed the morning after.”
He barked out a laugh. “There’s no more coil. We’re at the end of it—” he was shoved aside, which was impressive considering he had a good thirty pounds and two inches on me, and Elise popped her head over the ledge. “Jethro, I need to speak to you. Right now. I mean it this time. It’s important. It’s about the baby.”
The use of my full name sent a full-body cringe through me; that was worse than the fantasies she spun. I didn’t answer her, though she continued to assault me with more words than I used in a whole week. God damn, the woman could talk. It was about her only natural talent, aside from her smoking hot body.
“Go away, Elise!”
“No. I want to talk about our relationship, the baby, everything that’s happened.”
Though I couldn’t see him, I could hear Hugh let out a loud groan. I snapped my mouth shut. How did you talk crazy down off a ledge? You didn’t. You ran away.
Cursing under my breath, I flexed my arms, pulling myself sideways, and then walked along the wall until I reached a window. Wrapping the belt fully around one forearm, I freed up my other hand and worked the window open. I slid through into the empty room and was out the door and into the main hallway in less than ten seconds.
Jogging to the stairs, I put Elise from my mind . . . something that was easy to do when I got a glimpse at the girl walking up the stairs, a camera slung around her neck. Photographer or tourist? She had long, wavy, dark hair that was causally messy and gave me an instant itch to bury my fingers into it; to see if it was as thick and silky as it looked. Grinning, I thought about Hugh’s suggestion and it suddenly seemed like a very good idea. I slowed my steps so we met on the next landing. I stood between her and the stairs going up, put on my best, crooked grin—the one that had earned me cookies, women and jobs, depending on my age.
“I’m sorry, you can’t go up there; it’s a closed set. I’m afraid I’ll have to escort you back to the lobby.” I pointed to the lower stairs, and then folded my arms across my chest, grinning like a fool. A whiff of perfume curled around me and the smile on my face stretched wider; she smelled like heaven, whispers of flowers and moonlit nights. Shit, I was damn near poetic in my musings.
Her eyes flicked up to mine, surprise crossing her face, but it was me who caught my breath. Her eyes were green, shadowed with a dark ring of black, smoky and full of depth. Those eyes sucked me in with an effortlessness that shot through my body. And although the beauty of her eyes was undeniable, there was something else, a quality I couldn’t put my finger on, a softness that I hadn’t seen since what seemed like a lifetime ago . . . .
“I have a pass,” she said, her sweetly husky voice coiling around me, lingering on my skin as if she’d touched me with her fingertips. She held up a tag and a camera that hung from her neck. “I have an appointment waiting for me.”
I gave into temptation, stepping closer to her, drinking her in; the curve of her cheek, the sudden hollow in her throat as she took a deep surprised breath. She blushed; she actually blushed! How long had it been since I met someone who wasn’t skilled at playing men? Who hadn’t worked what they’d wanted from the man in question and then left as soon as they could?
This girl was no model, no actress, not because she wasn’t beautiful, but because she was dressed in a t-shirt and cut off shorts with
no name brand, and scuffed running shoes that had seen better days. Inwardly, I heaved a sigh of relief. She wouldn’t be after anything I had to offer, no connections for this girl.
She was perfect.
I continued to smile, feeling the tension between us and the pounding of my heart, like I was about to pull off a particularly risky move; knowing by the way her eyes dilated she felt the . . . whatever it was between us too.
“Excuse me, I don’t want to be late.” She tried to step around me, and I followed her, making sure to keep my distance, but not letting her get away from me. God damn, she was fine. Natural, that’s what it was; she had a natural beauty untouched by surgery, Botox or heavy make-up. She was clean and fresh, something I’d almost forgotten existed.
I wanted to taste her. Without another thought, I lifted my hand to brush along the edge of her jaw, her skin like satin under my fingers. Her eyes widened, dilating further as her mouth pursed and her jaw tightened. Such a mixture of desire and denial in those deep green eyes. The emerald color flashed with irritation, sparkling as if on fire—green fire to burn me all the way to my soul and back, if I let it. I stifled a shiver of anticipation, my muscles tensing, prepping me to move fast. To move in for the killer kiss that would seal the deal, leave her at my mercy.
The way she stood, the tension in her muscles, the spark of fire in her eyes at being touched without permission, all told me she wasn’t like the other girls. Which only made me more certain that I wanted her.
She was exactly what I’d been looking for without even knowing it.
I closed the distance between us, the tension in her body vibrating off her skin. She lifted her chin, eyes snapping with impatience, and put a finger to my chest, poking at me.
“I said excuse me; I meant it. I have a meeting, and I don’t think he will appreciate me being late. He’s a busy man.”
“What kind of meeting?” My lips quirked upward; damn, she had some spunk too. This was looking better and better. “You don’t mean like the kind of meeting that pays you by the hour, do you?” I had no such thoughts, but I couldn’t resist teasing her.
Her mouth dropped open. “I would . . . never . . . ugh!”
I held up my hands. “I had to ask. Because if we’re going to continue this relationship I need to make sure that I’m your one and only. I don’t share well, nor do I play well with others.”
She drew herself up, reached out and for a split second I thought she was going to touch my face, maybe even cup my chin for a kiss. Nope, not my Spitfire.
She grabbed my ear, twisted it hard, and punctuated her words with increased pressure and torque. “I will never be your one and only; it’s none of your business why I’m here, now get out of my way.”
I yelped, unable to pull away from her hand and my ear, which she continued to clutch as she dragged and pushed me from my place in front of the stairs.
“What the hell was that?” I griped as she let go and I put a hand over my now throbbing ear.
“That was a move I learned to use on my brother when he was being a pain in my butt.” She snapped over her shoulder as she strode up the stairs, long legs eating up the steps, her pert little ass beckoning me with each sway of her softly rounded hips.
Well, I’ll be damned.
I scrubbed at my ear and let her go; if she was here on some sort of assignment, I would track her down. I stared up the stairs, listening to the woman’s footsteps grow distant. To be fair, I’d have followed her if it wasn’t for Elise waiting at the top for me.
“Spitfire, don’t forget me!” I called up the stairwell.
“Shut up!” She shouted back.
I chuckled to myself. Nope, I wouldn’t be forgetting her anytime soon.
With a final shake of my head, I headed back down toward the ground floor.
Once I was out of the building, I did my thing. Waving to the people I worked with, smiling and winking at the women, shaking a few hands. Like a politician of sorts, I couldn’t let people in, I had to be what the industry expected of me. Crazy and wild, stupidly dangerous: especially when it came to my own safety. For the most part, I didn’t mind. But there were moments, times like this that I wanted to go bury my head in the sand, to be unseen for a while. I crossed the street, dodging the light traffic and headed for a place I knew well and where—hopefully—Elise wouldn’t be able to find me. Where I could sit and do what Hugh had suggested: drink away my brother’s words, which had been burned into my head, words I’d been fighting not to hear. The only time they went quiet was when I was working. The drinking worked for a while, but not long enough.
“I didn’t tell you because there was nothing you could do. Besides, the last thing I want is a label.”
“Fuck, are you serious? Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Why did you wait all this time?”
“You should have protected me and you didn’t. This is the consequence. Leave me the fuck alone.”
I ran my hands over my head and scrubbed at the back of my neck, tracing the scars that started there and spread out over my back. Memories were not something I wanted; if I could burn them from my mind I would. Or at least I would try.
The cafe was shaded with umbrellas and I ordered a beer—wishing it was stronger, but knowing I had to keep it together in case I was called back to the set—and sat at the back, leaning my elbows on the table as I tried to push away my last conversation with my brother before he headed to Europe. What felt like the last conversation we might ever have. What he’d told me I couldn’t un-hear; what I knew about our childhood had been flipped on its head. I’d always thought he’d been safe, that I had done what I could to protect him; that I’d kept him safe. But I hadn’t known everything, and he blamed me for what happened to him.
“And that makes two of us,” I said softly, flicking my hand in the air and ordering another beer.
3
Jasmin
I bolted up the stairs once I was out of sight of that cocky bastard, holding my camera so it wouldn’t get jostled. Who the heck did he think he was anyway? Did it matter that he’d been ridiculously handsome with his over confident grin, tousled hair and almost golden eyes? Did it matter that I couldn’t help but notice his muscles flexing under his shirt as he’d lifted his hand to touch me? The way I’d considered touching him . . . good God, what was wrong with me? None of that was important. Absolutely none of it.
God, I hoped Jet had more sense than that man. As one of the best, he probably just did his job and nothing more. I could hope anyway, right? And Jethro would be ugly as sin, a troll; he wouldn’t make my heart jump around in my chest or my skin flush with a fever that had no apparent cause. Nope. Not Jethro, with a name like that he couldn’t be handsome. Heck, that was probably why there were no photos of him. Yes, that made perfect sense.
The fact that Jet didn’t know I was coming didn’t mean I couldn’t tell people I had an appointment with him. How long could it take to do a few shoots, get him to answer some questions? I’d be done, and on my way home in no time and onto my next assignment and my next paycheck.
My mind went once more to the stuntman on the stairs. Kevin was right, that guy had made a move on me that was slick . . . he was probably so good with the ladies that he’d expected me to buckle to my knees and swoon into his arms. I smiled as I thought about twisting his ear. Now that had been beyond satisfying, to see him so stunned.
It was easy to see why he was so confident. His black shirt and blue jeans with the rip in one pant leg had fit him well, and he’d been lean and hard all the way from his jaw line to the tips of his fingers. Those fingers, which had stroked along my jaw with a casual possessiveness that had almost made me forget why I was there—not that for one minute I’d even considered anything more than just getting him out of my way. I shook my head at myself. Nope, not going there.
Hmm. And you didn’t feel anything? Not even a little bit turned on, not even a little bit tempted?
“I most certainly did not.” I gl
anced around to make sure I was alone. Here it was, it had finally happened. The stress of Ryan’s death had cracked me. I was answering the voices in my head out loud. At the top of the stairs, I paused and took a breath. On the other side of this door was Jethro Sterling, my first assignment, and I had to make a good first impression. Professional, polite, a pro. I had to make sure I was spoken of well, so that Kevin would continue to use me as his main photographer and interviewer. I had to make sure I was taken seriously, so I’d prove that despite my age and inexperience, I could do this.
One last quick smoothing of my clothes, and I was ready to face him. The tell-tale tremor of my hands irritated me and I did my best to stifle it. God, I was nervous. But then I soothed myself with the fact that Jet couldn’t be as bad to deal with as that man on the stairs had been. That confident, crooked grin that showed one chipped eye tooth, overshadowed by his gold flecked eyes had stuck with me much to my consternation. The chipped tooth actually made him look better, more real than if he’d had a perfect Tom Cruise blindingly white dazzler. I snorted at myself.
Put him aside, Jazzy. You’ve got work to do.
Reaching out to turn the doorknob, it was yanked away from me as a woman opened the door from the inside. We both let out startled gasps. She was easily six feet tall, maybe taller, but it was hard to tell as her hair was at least two inches high with back combed bleach blonde curly hair. She wore a pair of short shorts and a tight white tank top; it was easy to see why she was in the industry. Perfect body, perfect boobs, blonde hair, blue eyes, and Botox plush lips. Barbie come to life.
She blinked and gave me a once over, inspecting me even as I was doing the same to her. No doubt my non-designer clothes didn’t meet her standards, but it didn’t bother me. I’d never been particularly swayed by fashion or brand names. I sure as heck wasn’t going to start now. Still, she might be a good contact, so I held out my hand. “Hi, I’m Jasmin Vargas. I’m a photographer here on behalf of Wild Child.”
High Risk Love Page 3
