by Skye Jordan
“But that’s not what I meant.” She scraped both hands into her hair, pulling it off her face as her eyes fell closed. She looked as tormented as he felt. “God, you’ve changed so much.”
“You mean the part where I don’t contort myself to fulfill your every wish? Yeah, I guess that’s changed a little. People change over the course of seven years in the prime of their lives, El. But I guess there’s something comforting about the fact that you’re still willing to compromise anything to reach the top.”
He turned away, exhausted from the relentless ache eating him alive, and fished out a water bottle from the cooler. She’d get sick of him and walk out soon. The sooner the better, because the ugly band of two-year-olds who made up this ridiculously immature side of him were running rampant in his psyche.
“Hold on,” she said, anger making her voice rise. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re not thinking twice about getting naked with some guy you’ve never met and getting busy on camera in a cave so you can take that next step up the ladder, just like you didn’t think twice about fucking a stranger in a club so you could get sexy for a music video to push your song to the top of the charts, just like you didn’t think twice about walking away from me to get your break.”
She sipped air and held it. Pain and anger flashed across her face, and a very familiar self-hatred welled inside him.
She closed her eyes and lifted her hands to her head. In a low voice, likely more for herself than for Troy, she murmured, “I’m not going to get mad. I’m not going to get mad.” Then louder. “I’m not going to get mad, because one: you don’t know what you’re talking about, two: you’re speaking out of anger and you know what you’re saying isn’t true, and three: you probably have half a dozen little brats running around in your head right now turning you into a lunatic.”
He scowled hard, but a bittersweet balm swelled somewhere deep inside him. “Don’t pretend you know me.”
She crossed her arms again, and tilted her head with that knowing look. “I bet they’re playing cops and robbers, chasing and shooting each other, creating chaos.”
Goddammit. “It’s cowboys and Indians. They haven’t been into cops and robbers in years. See, you don’t know.”
Her lips quirked. “Anyone burning at the stake yet?”
He laughed, totally against his will. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want to know how well she still understood him. Didn’t want to be reminded of what he was missing. He didn’t want amiable. He didn’t want forgiveness. He didn’t want letting go and forgetting and putting it behind them. It might be wrong, it might be backward and fucked up, but he’d rather have the hurt to hold on to than nothing.
Only now he realized that maybe Giselle needed something else. Maybe she did need to let go. And maybe he needed to let her.
“The cowboys keep breaking the ropes. But my Indians are resourceful. There will be burning flesh,” he warned with a wag of his finger. “Soon.”
She smiled, a sweet, authentic smile Troy recognized as pure Giselle. A smile that brought a wave of loss so deep, it had the power to drop him to his knees if he let it. He purposely lowered his gaze to the cave floor, holding on to the anger. Because without the anger, without the fighting, all the pain and the loss bubbled to the surface. And Troy had experienced enough of that for ten lifetimes.
His energy for keeping the battle alive waned. His drive to hold on to the hurt flagged. And a heavy beat of silence filled the cave. Voices drifted in from a distance. They were alone, with nothing but a few feet of air separating them, yet he felt like they were separated by miles. And he had no idea how to close that distance—or even if he should.
“Are you over your claustrophobia?” he asked.
“Not exactly, but I’m better at dealing with it.”
“Does your manager know?”
“Yes.”
He lifted his gaze without moving his head. “Does he really know?”
She shifted on her feet. “No.” With her lips pressed tight, she scanned the cave again. “You think this is a really stupid idea, don’t you? Me working in these caves.”
He huffed a laugh with absolutely no humor in it. “When’s the last time you gave a fuck what I thought?”
Her gaze sharpened and drilled into his like fiery blue ice. “I hung on your every word right up until the day you told my manager to go screw himself with a pogo stick after he’d gotten me a goddamned tour with Lady Antebellum.”
The past spun back at warp speed and hit him square in the forehead. Damn, that would leave a mark. But he still cracked a smile. “Yeah. I did that, didn’t I?” He shook his head. “Man, Ellie, you should have dumped me a lot sooner than you did.”
A mixture of volatile emotions twisted her face before she pulled in a breath to speak.
“Giselle.” Chad’s voice rang out from the mouth of the cave. “They’re ready for you.”
She clenched her teeth and growled in frustration, which was about as threatening and adorable as a kitten’s hiss.
“Go get your sexy on, girl.” He wandered away, busying himself with some unnecessary equipment gathering and a distracted “Don’t keep the star waiting.”
As Troy listened to her footsteps fade from the cave, he let the harnesses drop from his hands and covered his face, rubbing his eyes with his palms. The best thing he could do for both of them was keep his distance—physically and emotionally—until they parted ways again. And they would, because they spent their lives crisscrossing the world.
Letting her go, letting her move on, might be the hardest, most painful thing he’d ever done, but it was the best thing he could do for her. And he might not have done a lot right in his life, but all the best things he’d ever done had been the things he’d done for her.
Giselle’s mind couldn’t stop pinging. Thoughts ricocheted against her skull like little sparks, bursting, then fading only for another to burst somewhere else, then fade. Over and over and over. Troy. Her career. Alex, the man on top of her. Troy. Tonight’s show. The club. Troy. All the eyes on her mostly naked body. Alex. Troy. Jeff, the director. Troy. Troy. Troy…
“Nice, Giselle,” Jeff said, his voice smooth and encouraging. “You love this. You need this. Arms overhead, arch your back. Good, nice. You’re so hot. So turned on. Alex, tilt your face a little more this way. Cathy, shift the lighting…”
Jeff’s direction continued to cast and crew as Alex’s lips traveled down the middle of Giselle’s chest, between her breasts, over her stomach. She’d lost track of how long the guy had been kissing and groping her, but every time they started over and filmed it again, she had the same numb sensation, like she was only half there. And she wondered if that was why they’d had to refilm so many times. But no matter how hard she tried, she simply couldn’t engage herself in these acts with this man.
He was handsome, friendly, warm, and patient. Alex also had a body as equally built as Troy’s, a smile that lit up a room—or in this case, a cave—a sexy laugh that turned heads, and had all the women on the crew swooning over his every breath.
“And hands to breasts…” Jeff said.
Alex’s hands slid up Giselle’s sides and covered her breasts. Her fingers curled into fists. Her belly quivered. But not in excitement.
“Writhe a little, Giselle. Perfect. Push into his hands. Yes, just like that.”
Why didn’t she feel anything? His mouth was warm. His hands practiced. His body supple and strong.
“All that fire between you and me, it was one hundred percent real and you know it.”
Troy’s voice filled her head bringing a rush of anxiety. Her thoughts rushed back to the pleasure he’d brought her, to the euphoric sense of hope she’d experienced when she’d believed she might be able to find another man who could make her feel even a sliver of the fulfillment Troy always had.
Only that man had been Troy.
So where did that leave her?
“And… Cut,” Jeff said.
Giselle eased back to the thin foam mat on the rock behind her and waited to hear what he said next, praying he didn’t want another take. They’d run this scene six times already, with cameras at every possible angle.
But instead of wrapping, Jeff said, “Great job, guys. Let’s take twenty.”
Her shoulders dropped. “This is way harder than it looks,” she told Alex. He straightened his arms and grinned down at her. “And you’ve been incredibly patient with me.”
His smile was warm, and the interest sparkling in his hazel eyes was real. If she were smart, she’d grab on to that and run with it. If she were smart, she’d find a man who wasn’t as screwed up as she was and love him as hard as she could.
“You’re an easy woman to be patient with,” he said, “and you’re doing great.”
“Alex,” Jeff called. “A word?”
His smile vanished, and he made an impatient sound in his throat. “Evidently, I’m not doing quite as well.”
Giselle didn’t know what that meant. Didn’t really want to know. This world of movies was not only foreign but counterintuitive.
Alex pushed to his knees as one of the crew handed Giselle a silk robe. She slid her arms in and pulled it across her body, then climbed off the cave’s ledge with the help of another crew member. Someone else handed her a cold bottle of water, while another laid flip-flops at her feet. They treated her like royalty.
“Do you think I could get some air?” she asked the young man whose name she couldn’t remember.
“Sure. But I wouldn’t go outside. You’ll melt.”
She wandered toward one of the cave’s many entrances, and the closer she came to the mouth of the cave, the hotter it got. So she found a shadowed alcove where she eased to a seat on a small ledge, closed her eyes and took deep, slow breaths of the fresh but hot air, soaking in the natural light. She was glad she’d asked Chad and Brook not to stay for the shoot. They would only have fussed and worried, which would have raised her anxiety level.
“Penny.” Jeff’s voice touched Giselle’s ear. “Go find Troy for me. I need to talk to him.”
Her heart skipped. Her eyes popped open. She didn’t want Troy here, of all people. She swallowed back her anxiety, but her stomach had tied itself into triple knots by the time Troy entered the cave through the door where she sat in a dark corner.
“What?” he asked, clearly not pleased over the summons.
His deep voice shivered over her, and her body lit up the way it should have during her scene with Alex.
“Hey, Troy, yeah.” Jeff met him at the entrance, and Giselle held her breath, hoping she sank into the shadows. “Listen,” he said, voice low. “Giselle is doing great, but she and Alex just don’t have the chemistry I’m looking for. We’ve done the take six times, and it’s good, don’t get me wrong. She’s absolutely gorgeous on camera. Stunning. But I’m not getting that raw passion I saw between you two. You’ve played great parts for me in the past, I really need you to—”
“No.” Troy cut Jeff off with the quiet but final word. He’d cleaned up at some point in the last couple of hours. He was no longer covered in grime and sweat. His hair was combed off his face, and he’d thrown on a T-shirt. “What you saw was…a moment. Nothing more.”
A stab pinched her heart, one that surprised her. He was right. What they’d had was nothing but a moment.
“Tell yourself whatever you want to get through the day, kid, but I’ve done this long enough to know real emotion between two people when I see it. And I need you to bring that to life for the camera.”
Giselle’s stomach churned in a waterfall of acid. She’d failed at depicting the passion Jeff had wanted. And if she couldn’t pull off this part, if Jeff canceled the cameo, she’d fall right back to where she’d been before the part had been offered—with her future riding on a wing and a prayer.
“Alex is an amazing actor and a great guy,” Troy said. “If you aren’t getting the spark you want with him, you won’t get it with me.”
“Okay, okay…” Jeff’s voice soothed and placated. “What about giving it one try. Just one take. If it’s not there, it’s not there.”
“She’ll never go for it.”
On impulse, she stood and stepped forward. “Yes, I will.” They both startled, their heads snapping toward her. Her stomach jumped and her heart raced. She was doing exactly what he’d accused her of doing earlier—whatever it took to benefit her career. She’d have to face the truth of that later. “I’ll do whatever you want.”
Jeff grinned. “That’a girl.” He turned toward the main space in the cave. “Holly, grab me a script.”
Troy’s gaze drilled into her, challenging, questioning. “You are fucking relentless.”
She held it even as Jeff assured them both this was going to work out great. Even as a young woman rushed over with a script. Even as Jeff spoke to Troy about the part.
“Take thirty,” Jeff said. “Do a dry run if you need to. We’ll meet back here at—”
“I don’t need thirty minutes.” He snapped the script from Jeff’s hand. “I’m ready now.”
Still holding her gaze, he reached behind him, fisted his shirt, and dragged it over his head. Fire licked through Giselle’s body. The move was so let’s-get-it-on carnal, wetness spread through her sex. She fisted her hands, hating the way she responded to him and no one else.
“Casey,” Jeff yelled across the space. “Get Troy into makeup. Thin out his beard to look more like Alex’s scruff, cover that tat again, and slick his hair back.”
“Already there,” Casey said, taking Troy’s bicep and dragging him toward her chair.
“Jill,” Jeff called to another girl, “touch up Giselle.”
A little blonde waved Giselle toward her.
“Get all the cameras you want set up now, Jeff,” Troy said without looking up from the script. “’Cause you’re getting one goddamned take. I’m not doing this twice.”
Jeff snapped his fingers at some of the cameramen, and the room whirled into action like Troy wielded the power of movement. The entire atmosphere of the set changed, everyone focused and serious. Jill powdered Giselle’s face, touched up a few spots, opened her robe, and powdered her breasts and belly.
With his head bowed, his brow furrowed, Troy gave his rapt attention to the script, as if Casey wasn’t fussing all over him with makeup and gel. Then Jeff was back, facing Troy with an open look of expectation.
“Okay, look.” He closed the script and met Jeff’s gaze. “We’ll get close, but it won’t be exact. We’ll flow with it. You film until we stop, then cut and paste the way you want it in editing. She’s done it several times, and I’ve read the script, so don’t be yelling directions at us. Keep your mouth shut. Don’t screw the mood. We’ve got this. As long as Ellie’s on board, you’ll be happy with what you get.”
The way he spoke for her, took control of the situation, wielded the confidence and the balls to order the freaking director around made her nerves rise to the top of her skin and vibrate. Yeah, he’d been dominant at the club, but that was sex, and he’d known Giselle was Giselle. This…this was true power born out of respect, out of trust, out of talent.
And Giselle was ridiculously impressed. And strangely…humbled.
“Giselle?” Jeff’s voice pulled her gaze from Troy’s handsome profile, his features stronger with his hair slicked back.
“Yes?”
“Are you on board?”
Troy’s chair spun, and he stood, facing her. Those dark eyes met hers with expectation. The expectation that she would obey. That she would follow. That she would not question.
She swallowed hard and broke the powerful eye contact. His chest was wide and strong, his abs tight, his skin tan.
“Y-yes,” she said.
Jeff turned and yelled at the cameramen, making her jump. Troy picked up a bottle of water on his way to her, took her hand and pulled her off to the side near the ledge.<
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He uncapped the water, took a long drink and offered it to her. After she did the same, he set it aside. Then he gave her two hundred percent of his undivided attention, and Giselle felt it all the way to her soul. He stroked her hair off her face and tilted her chin back. His touch made her body shiver to life. “Look at me.”
When her eyes were on his, he scanned every inch of her face slowly, intimately, as if the atmosphere in the room wasn’t ratcheted up to high gear. His gaze flowed over her, dark and liquid. His fingers stroked her face and neck with a feather-like touch, making her ache for more.
“We’re in no rush,” he murmured. “We have all the time in the world. It’s just you and me. In the moment. No past. No future. Just Ellie and Troy. Right now.”
Pain bit at her heart, and her eyes slipped from his.
“Only good thoughts. No pain. No regret. Just now. Just us. Just the perfection of you and me, angel. It’s still in here.” He touched the spot over her heart with the backs of his fingers, rubbing gently. “Close your eyes. Slow, deep breaths. That’s it. Let go.”
In those two minutes, she swore she relaxed one hundred percent.
“That’s my girl.” He pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “Remember how good it was,” he whispered against her mouth, then kissed her again. “Remember how close we were. Remember the way you used to finish my sentences. The way I could read your mind.”
He quickly became her only reality. He’d always been able to draw her in so completely, she lost track of everything but him. She relished the escape, the comfort, the pleasure. Her entire body released three levels of stress she hadn’t realized she’d been holding on to until they vanished. Until she felt fifty pounds lighter.
He pulled her lower lip between his and suckled gently. He smelled like soap and heat and sweat and Troy. Raw, real Troy. Excitement blossomed low in her belly. She swayed into him, and he was just like she remembered, solid, steadfast, supportive.
“Very nice.” He pressed his hips into hers gently, just enough to brush his erection against her. Just enough to make her moan for the feel of it. “Mmm, baby, you are delicious.”
