Relentless

by Skye Jordan

  “Ready on set.” Jeff’s voice was either quieter or Giselle’s hearing had faded in the pump of blood in her ears. But as Troy eased away, the entire cave seemed quieter, more still, like Troy had put everyone into a trance.

  “I want your mind filled with me, Ellie.” His fingers pulled on the tie of her robe. “Just me. Just me, and the way I make you feel.” He brushed the robe off her shoulders, and she was naked except for flesh-colored panties. “Christ, you are gorgeous.”

  He bent at the knees, wrapped his arms low on her waist, and lifted her effortlessly. Giselle’s legs parted and wrapped around his hips. His cock rode her heat, and he murmured, “Perfect.”

  He took the few stairs to the ledge smoothly, lowered to one knee, and laid her back as if he’d done it a million times.

  Distantly, a soft “And action” registered.

  But Troy instantly drew her attention again. “Do you ever fantasize about us, El?” He was on his knees and elbows, his gaze so soft and intent on hers, he really did make her feel like they were alone. Like there were no lights shining on them, no eyes beyond the lights watching. “Ever dream about us?”

  He tilted his head and licked her lips. Heat streaked across her ribs, and she opened to him, the way she always opened to him. Then met his tongue, and they swirled together. He tasted strong and male, forbidden and dangerous, and heartbreakingly familiar.

  He eased his hips between her thighs, resting against her. His weight created a decadent pressure, the rigid swell of his cock in line with her heat, and she bent her knees, sliding her thighs along his hips, his sides, then back down. His bare belly pressed hers and she pulled in a breath at the contact. The warm, sizzling contact. His fingers combed through her hair, tightened in the strands, and dragged her head back. Then his body covered hers, and his mouth came down on her throat, his teeth nipping at her skin, making her body move the way it should for the scene, but with absolutely no thought. Skin against skin. Warmth. Pleasure. Sensation. Lust. Need. They filled her heart, tightened her breasts, quivered in her belly, melted between her legs.

  Her mouth dropped open, arms stretched overhead as Troy palmed one breast before swirling his tongue around the opposite nipple. A sound escaped her throat, part sigh, part moan, and offered herself for more. He opened wide, covering as much of her breast as he could, sucking hard, scraping her skin with his teeth.

  She lifted her hips, her sex aching for pressure, but Troy was sliding south, his hands covering her breasts while his mouth traveled across her ribs, down her breastbone, over her belly button. Giselle closed her eyes, focused on the feel of his mouth and hands on her skin. Troy’s mouth. Troy’s hands. Emotions blended—love, excitement, loss, pain, confusion—each heightening the others, all intensifying her reaction to his touch.

  And when his mouth traveled lower than the script called for, Giselle’s fingers curled into fists, her head rolled side to side, and her hips lifted into the heat and pressure of those amazing lips. He closed his mouth over her and hummed. The vibrations shivered through her skin, tantalizing her clit. Giselle writhed. So close. She was so close.

  “And…cut.”

  Jeff’s voice shattered Giselle’s fantasy world. Worse, Troy lifted his mouth off her, pulled his hands from her breasts, and pushed up to all fours, hovering over her. He licked his lips, his dark eyes drilling into hers with fiery passion.

  Then Jeff’s voice cut between them again with, “It’s a wrap. Great job.”

  And everyone started clapping.

  Chatter broke out around the cave, voices echoing. One of the crew offered Giselle’s robe. Troy sat back on his heels, took the robe, and passed it to her. She was still shivering with pent-up need, while Troy was rolling to his feet.

  “Great shoot.” His tone was as cold as his gaze was hot. All the concern and sweetness and charm he’d shown at the beginning of the scene were gone. Now he was just flat and distant. “Hope this role gives you that leg up you want so badly.”

  He climbed from the ledge, grabbed a water bottle from a crewmember standing nearby, his shirt from another, and exited the cave.

  Giselle held the robe to her naked body, dazed, her heart throbbing against her ribs, staring at the passageway he’d just disappeared through, and realized not only didn’t she know him anymore, she didn’t even recognize any part of the man he used to be in the man he’d become.

  Giselle had been on the road for so long, different places and different faces had become her normal. She’d learned to make small talk with everyone from the hostess at the local breakfast spot to the CEO of a prospective record label. She’d learned to work a party the way she worked an audience. And while she didn’t always want to be at every event she needed to attend, she rarely felt out of place anywhere.

  But this was one of those rare places.

  She stood at the window of yet another concierge room, this one at the Venetian, surrounded by the cast and crew of Full Throttle, where everyone had gathered for some food and a viewing of something called the dailies.

  She’d done her due diligence as far as socializing was concerned, making the requisite pass around the room, chatting with the various producers, production assistants, directors, assistant directors, other crew members, major cast members…. Movies employed one hell of a lot of people. While everyone had been polite and gracious, it hadn’t taken more than fifteen minutes to realize that these people were more of a working family than coworkers, just as she and Brook had noticed at the mixer. And for the first time in a long time, Giselle was an outsider.

  Beyond the window, the Mirage lit up the Vegas skyline, her face splashed across the hotel’s top ten floors. That couldn’t have been easy for Troy to look at every night. Not that it gave him the right to hurt her in retaliation…

  “It had nothing to do with revenge. I’ve never wanted revenge.”

  She lowered her gaze to her club soda and lime. She was exhausted after a day of filming and performing, and all the emotional drama surrounding Troy sucked her dry. She hadn’t even stopped back at her room to change after her concert, still wearing a black halter dress far too sexy and too revealing for this setting. After days and days and days of relentless stress, she felt snappish. And as if her body was trying to tell her she’d reached her limit, tonight after her concert, she’d come down with a sore throat.

  So she was using it as an excuse to take some downtime from socializing, because she really wasn’t in the mood to put on a happy face and pretend everything in her world was perfect.

  Troy¸ on the other hand, had no problem doing just that.

  Across the room, raucous laughter filled the space, turning every head. Troy was sitting on the arm of a chair, long, jean-clad legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. With his long-sleeved black Henley pushed up on his forearms, a drink in one hand, and a joyous smile splitting his face over something his fellow Renegades were talking about, Troy had never looked happier.

  The star of the movie, Channing Tatum, who was also one of Giselle’s favorite male actors and just as charming and sexy in person as he was on screen, wandered over to the group and said something that made them all break out in laughter again. Channing fistbumped Troy.

  Giselle had learned over the course of the day that Troy was stunt-doubling Channing in the movie, which demonstrated just how far Troy had come. He was as big a performer as Giselle, just without all the fanfare. He moved through the various groups at the party with ease, with the ability to talk to everyone on all levels with comfort. He was secure with who he’d become, and it showed in every relationship. Which was a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree shift from seven years ago and the immature, insecure guy forever out of place at industry parties with no one to talk to and nothing in common with the guests.

  His frustrated, jealous behavior had only made the existing animosity between him and other members of her team worse. In the end, the festering animosity had led to the end of their relationship.

  A
nd now, here he was, seven years later, the life of the party, fitting in with everyone.

  She shook her head at the irony of it all and glanced around the room. Brook and Keaton were over in the corner talking and laughing where they’d been most of the hour. Chad was busy schmoozing with the movie moneymen since they’d walked in. And standing there alone, while everyone else had a connection to someone in the room, Giselle got a glimpse of that awkward feeling Troy must have felt all those years ago at the parties surrounding her gigs. If she multiplied that by at least a hundred, she might have a good idea of what he’d suffered on a regular basis. Because the big difference between those parties and this one was that everyone here treated Giselle with respect. Troy hadn’t been afforded the same courtesy.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Troy push to his feet and saunter to the bar. He leaned on the counter, waiting for the bartender to make him another drink, and Giselle saw her opening to break this burning ice between them.

  She took a deep breath and moved through the room to his side. “Hey.”

  His dark eyes slid toward her, then away.

  Anger prickled up her spine like hackles. She bit the inside of her lip to remind herself to be patient. When the surge had mellowed, she said, “I wanted to tell you—”

  “Hey, handsome.” Casey, the makeup girl, slid into place on Troy’s other side, her hand roaming intimately up his bicep. To the bartender, she said, “White wine, please.” Then to Troy. “Can’t wait to see those clips of you in the cavern today.”

  Troy turned toward her, leaning one elbow on the bar and giving Giselle his back. Hurt and fury blended into a fiery cocktail all its own.

  He laughed, the sound cocky and flirty. “You just want to see your cover-up job on my tat.”

  “I’ll take any excuse I can get to look at that hot body of yours.”

  Zahara stepped up beside Giselle. She ordered a rum and Coke from the bartender, then said, “You look drop-dead gorgeous. How’d your concert go?”

  “Thanks, but I can’t wait to get out of this.” Giselle took the opportunity to turn away from Troy and Casey, grateful for the distraction. “As for the show, my guest violinist tripped on stage and fell on his ass, and I ended the night with a sore throat. Other than that, it was great.”

  Zahara made a pained face and sucked air through her teeth. “Ooo, ouch.”

  Giselle laughed, smiling at the memory of Craig hitting the stage floor, the band, the backup singers, and herself breaking out into laughter, which allowed the fans to bust up and almost brought down the house.

  “It happens.” She shrugged. “And he’s got an amazing, self-deprecating sense of humor the crowd loved. I made a crack about a live concert being nothing like a movie set where you can just do another take, and everyone left happy. The audiences here are truly fabulous.”

  The lights dimmed, then brightened. Giselle darted a look toward the door and found Jeff playing with the lights. “Time for the show, folks.”

  “Crap,” Giselle said, turning toward a screen lowering on one wall. “I haven’t been looking forward to this.”

  “I remember those days.” She gave Giselle’s arm a reassuring squeeze. “You’re going to be great.”

  Giselle smiled, but when Zahara found a seat on a nearby sofa, Giselle wandered away from Troy and Casey. She didn’t need to listen to the woman gush all over him. Didn’t need any help imagining the two of them in bed together.

  Images flashed on the screen, creating tension all along Giselle’s back and shoulders. Nausea burned beneath her ribs. Her head ached. And she suddenly longed for complete isolation and three days of sleep.

  “For those of you who are new to dailies, these are either rough cut or uncut. You’ll have to use your imagination until the finished product is available.”

  Giselle couldn’t keep her gaze from drifting toward Troy. And while Casey still stood nearby, when Giselle scanned her way up his body to his face, she found him already looking at her, his eyes intense but his expression…unreadable.

  She was grateful when the lights dimmed again, and she had the clips to distract her from the inner turbulence.

  The clips ran quicker than Giselle expected. A few action shots of a fight between Keaton and the villain, Alex, were followed by several different views of Troy falling down the cavern, which made Giselle’s muscles tense so hard, she ached. After the third clip, she had to close her eyes.

  Finally, her love scene with Troy filled the screen. It had to be her imagination, but compared to the others, this clip seemed smoother. And infinitely longer. She swore the images dragged on and on. Swore her naked body filled the screen on the wall for hours, not minutes. And seeing herself from this vantage point, watching what Troy did to her while remembering how it had felt…

  Shit.

  She was wet again.

  And so damn embarrassed.

  She was so turned on and so pissed off—all at the same time.

  She wasn’t ready for the lights when they came back on, and rubbed at her hot cheeks as everyone turned their applause on her and Troy. She received applause every night, but this wasn’t welcome or comfortable, yet still appreciated. And the emotions spiraling from her chest to her toes were both terrifying and gratifying. And so confusing.

  But what made the biggest impact on her was how she couldn’t share any of those thoughts with Troy. In fact, as soon as the lights came up, he started saying his good nights and making his way toward the door, never meeting Giselle’s gaze.

  She felt like some creature was inside her, gnawing at her ribs. She couldn’t take this anymore. Couldn’t just accept this angry silence. It was tearing at her, twisting at her, slowly eating at her. There may only be a few days left on set, but she had to at least try to clear the air, because if she didn’t and they parted with this…this…ick still between them, it would fester, the way it had been festering for the last seven years. And if Giselle had learned anything from seeing him again, it was that she needed to find a way to deal with this so she could move on.

  “Are you ready to head back?” Chad came up beside her.

  “Go ahead. I’ll be over soon.”

  Brook stopped in front of her, blue eyes sparkling. “Keaton and I are headed down to the bar for a drink.”

  Giselle made sure the stuntman of interest wasn’t watching, then lifted her brows. “Oh, really.”

  “Really. Why don’t you come? Keep me from totally embarrassing myself.”

  “Hardly.” She laughed the word. “You two have been talking for an hour, and by the way he can’t look away from you, I’d say you’re doing just fine. Have fun. I won’t wait up, but I want details tomorrow.”

  On her way out, Giselle stopped to thank Jeff again and said good-bye to a few members of the crew. She started down the long hallway of hotel rooms with anxious energy tightening every muscle. Logistics crowded her mind—she didn’t know what room Troy was in. Didn’t know if he was sharing a room, or—shit—what if he’d brought Casey back to his room?

  Okay, she’d go down to the desk and ask them to call him. She’d ask him to come down to the lobby. That might work. But what then? What should she say? How should she say it?

  As she approached the stairwell, voices pulled her gaze up. At the end of the hallway, Troy and Duke paused in front of the hotel room doors, talking across the hall.

  Something at the center of her body pulled hard. A complex, edgy sensation that made her restless. Maybe even a little reckless. And her mind started pinging with all the unanswerable questions she needed answered but that were as meaningless as the square root of infinity. Why was he acting like such a prick? If he hated her so much, why didn’t he just walk away from her at the club when he’d had the chance? Why hadn’t he humiliated her then? And what about the club? Why did he go there? Was that part of his lifestyle now? Who had he become over the last seven years? And why?

  She didn’t really want or expect answers. Even if she got th
em, they wouldn’t change anything. But she did need to settle things between them for the here and now. Her future depended on it. She also had to get something from the past off her chest. He didn’t have to care one way or the other, but she had to tell him. It needed to be said.

  “Troy.” She called to him while pushing her feet forward. Both men looked back.

  Then Duke said, “Catch you tomorrow” and disappeared into his room.

  Instead of turning to face her, Troy disappeared into his room as well.

  “Troy—” She hurried forward, but the hard click of the door snapped in her face. A millisecond of shock stilled her. Then her heart raced. Her temper spiked. And she lifted both hands to pound on the door. “Troy Jacobs, grow the fuck up and open this door.”

  The door opened a foot with Troy’s body filling the space. “Ellie,” he said, his voice infuriatingly condescending, like he was talking to a child. “Don’t yell in the hall.”

  “Let me in. We need to talk. This tension between us is stupid, and it has to end.”

  “I’ve had a really long day, with another really long day ahead in about six hours. And unlike you, princess, I don’t have a manager, bodyguards, and personal assistants. I have to take care of all my shit myself. So, no, I’m not letting you in, because talking is the very last thing I feel like doing with you.”

  He started to close the door, and Giselle felt as if she were on the verge of insanity. As if she’d been pushed past her breaking point. Her brain felt like it was vibrating inside her skull. Like it was going to short-circuit and explode.

  She pushed against the door again. “You’re driving me batshit crazy.”

  “No, honey,” he laughed. “You managed that all by yourself.”

  Snap. That was it. She’d had it.

  She shouldered her way into the foyer of his suite, then spun on him. “I’m done with the eggshells. I have shit to say. If you don’t want to talk, fine. You can listen.”