Red Hot Lovers: 18 Contemporary Romance Books of Love, Passion, and Sexy Heroes by Your Favorite Top-Selling Authors

by Milly Taiden

  “We don’t work together. Not anymore.” He bit the words out, and in his voice there was regret and pain that seemed so out of place with him.

  Like treading on quicksand, I asked my next question as softly as I could. “Is there a reason why you don’t work together? Did one of you get hurt on a stunt or something?”

  Jet’s hand clenched on the napkin I’d thrown at him. “Nothing that I want to discuss.”

  I stole a glance at Hugh, but he was watching Jet carefully, like he wanted to hear the answer as much as I did. Secrets, the man had secrets, and I wanted to know what they were. Not for the magazine.

  For myself.

  Letting out a soft breath, I drummed my fingers lightly on the table, knowing I had to somehow lighten this dark cloud over us. “Any illegitimate children floating around?”

  Jet choked and jerked forward, his eyes wide. “Good God, I hope not.”

  Hugh laughed and the tension was broken—by a question that I thought would have sent most people into orbit at the mere suggestion. Curiouser and curiouser.

  Our food came and the conversation flowed easily between the three of us, questions asked, answers given, all of it light, on the surface. Nothing more was said about Jasper or Jet’s childhood, and if ever anything got close, he steered the conversation back to the present.

  “We’ve done it all,” Jet said, motioning to Hugh. “Rock climbing, skydiving, scuba diving . . . .”

  Hugh grinned around a tortilla chip. “Muff diving.”

  A laugh burst out of me and both men stared at me as if I’d been the one to say muff diving. “What, I can’t laugh at that?” I lifted an eyebrow at the two men.

  Jet’s eyes were sparkling, the gold flecks all but dancing. “Most women wouldn’t find that funny.”

  I shrugged, still smiling. “Oh, please. You must be hanging out with the wrong kind of women.”

  His eyes widened and he threw back his head, howling to the sky. Hugh slapped the table with his hands, shaking the plates.

  They could be so . . . so what? Goofy? Over the top? Some of both. Unrepentant, that’s what it was. They didn’t seem to care what people thought of them and they were genuine about it. Unrepentant flirts who were completely solid in themselves. I liked being around them; I didn’t feel like I had to be anything other than what I was.

  If I could just forget whatever secrets Jet was hiding, it would have been perfect.

  Smiling, I bit into a jalapeño, savoring the heat as it burned a path along my tongue, as the men argued about the movie sets they’d been on, the locations, the actors they’d met, the pranks they’d pulled on one another.

  I held up my hand at one point. “Wait, stop. Jet, you’re telling me you wrestled Hugh, on camera, in the snow when you were on location in Canada for a job and the goal was to see who could strip the other one out of his clothes and leave his friend naked in the sub-zero temperatures?”

  They looked at one another, nodded, and then looked back at me. Like they were the normal ones, like they did that sort of stuff all the time.

  “Why?” Jet said. “Doesn’t that seem logical? It was a bet—who was the better wrestler, without beating the shit out of each other. I don’t fight, not for real, and Hugh knows it.”

  Hugh scooted his chair closer to mine. “It was Jasper’s idea, actually. Said we’d both get ladies out of the deal. He was right. He usually is when it comes to women.”

  Again, Jet acted like Jasper’s name wasn’t even mentioned, though his eyes darkened with pain. It was there, just under the surface, though he hid it well. I think if I hadn’t been looking for it, I never would have seen the flicker of his eyelids, the shrinking of his pupils, though the light around us hadn’t changed.

  Ticking his fingers off one by one, Jet said, “All right, so now you know about the movies I’ve been on, my favorite color, no kids, no previous marriages—”

  I shook the tortilla chip I was holding at him. “Except Elise.”

  He groaned, eyes closing. “I never should have told you about her.”

  Laughing, I leaned back in my chair. “Don’t worry, it won’t go into the article.” Just the idea of a woman being so out of it that she thought she was married to him, then pregnant, then lost the baby—all of which didn’t exist, had never happened. No wonder he’d been running from her.

  Hours passed with ease, the three of us speaking freely, or as freely as I ever had. It was refreshing to be around people who expected you to be yourself, and nothing more. People who didn’t know the past and the people who’d died far too young. Here, I could just be me, just Jasmin, not Jasmin who lost her entire family.

  Finally, Hugh stood, stretching his arms over his head. “Ladies, I’ve got to get back to the set. One of us has to work.”

  Jet blew him a kiss. “All right honey, I’ll be back later, keep the bed warm, baby.”

  They were beyond silly; they were downright ridiculous. But the bond between them was obvious and they were so comfortable in their own skins. I didn’t need them to tell me that in twenty years they’d been through a lot together.

  Just the two of us now, I went to pick up my camera. Jet’s hand covered mine.

  “Don’t. Let me just talk to you without the camera between us.”

  Strangely nervous, I knew if there was a moment to ask him about his childhood this was it. For the magazine, of course. I pulled my hand back. “Sure. You want to tell me about your childhood now, with Hugh gone?”

  Jet’s face closed down so fast it was if a shutter had dropped between us.

  “You’re awfully interested in my childhood. What would the magazine want with that?” The teasing in his voice was gone now; what was left was a thread of something else . . . something darker.

  With a roll of my shoulders, I settled myself back in my chair. “People want to know what makes you tick, why you would willingly put yourself in the line of fire day after day. Why this? Why not the army or police work? There are lots of dangerous careers out there, why this one?”

  His jaw flexed and he pulled at his bottom lip with his teeth. As if considering.

  “It was the only thing I could do. The only thing I was—am—good at. I never finished school, this was all I had.” His words fell from his lips, and he stared at the crumpled napkin in his hands.

  What the hell was I supposed to say to that? I went with keeping it professional, the questions that Kevin had given me to ask.

  “And your parents supported you in this decision, to leave school and pursue the stunt career?”

  Jet erupted out of his seat, the chair flinging backward and hitting a guy sitting behind us. “Fuck. Enough with the questions!”

  I knew my eyes were wide, couldn’t help it. The man behind Jet stood up and cursed at him in Spanish. Jet flipped the guy off and within seconds they were chest to chest, yelling at each other. Despite Jet’s earlier statement that he didn’t fight, his fists were clenched, pulled back and ready to fly. I jumped out of my seat, scrambling to grab him. The last thing he needed was a black eye, or worse, a fight that ended with him on the floor. Especially since I’d prodded him to this.

  The Spanish man’s wife, girlfriend, whatever she was, pulled at her man’s arm, speaking low and fast.

  I forced Jet’s hand open and laced my fingers through his, the words slipping out of me. “Just breathe.”

  A shudder rippled through him, the tension leaving in a sharp exhalation. A heartbeat and he shook his head, then lifted his other hand up to the man he’d bumped. “Sorry, my fault.”

  The other man waved him off and the ‘almost’ fight was over before it had really begun. I squeezed Jet’s hand, rubbed it with my thumb as he’d done to me the night before. Had it been just last night that he’d walked me home?

  Carefully, he unlaced our fingers. “Thanks, I would have gotten canned if I had a black eye.”

  “Figured as much. Can’t be getting the talent’s face all smashed up,” I said lightly, h
oping to draw him out of the darkness that seemed to come on so fast and so heavy. What had happened in his past, his childhood, that could flick a switch in him like this?

  Grabbing his chair, he set it back under the table. “I should go. I’ve got to meet Tina.”

  I’d almost forgotten about that. Wait, that wasn’t until much later. Was he just trying to get away from me, or was it the conversation? “Right. You’re going to be early, I’m sure she’ll like that.”

  Jet touched my arm as he passed me, not responding to my comment about Tina. “Why don’t you come on set tomorrow, get some pictures of me while I’m working?”

  Back to business, that was good, the smart way to be doing things. “What time?”

  “Same as today.”

  Our words were awkward and stilted, where only moments ago we’d been laughing and teasing. I watched him move around the tables and out to the sidewalk. I couldn’t let him leave like this, not when he was hurting. I snagged my camera strap, holding my camera tight to my chest, and hurried after him.

  He was only a few feet ahead of me, and he turned as if knowing I was there. I gave him a cautious smile. “My brother had a saying—he thought he was very wise even though he was only a few years older than me.” I took a breath, reluctant to share Ryan with anyone, but Jet needed something and maybe sharing Ryan would be enough. “Everyone has a past, some of it's bad, some of it's good. It’s what we choose to do with those parts. Do we let them rule us, or do we use them to better ourselves?”

  Jet didn’t smile; instead his golden eyes dimmed as if a light had been snuffed out. And I’d done it.

  Turning, he walked away from me without another word.

  What had I done?

  6

  Jet

  What had she done to me? With a few simple words, she’d dredged up a past I was trying desperately to forget, to pretend had never happened. Not for me, but for Jasper. No, that wasn’t honest; I wanted to forget my past for myself too. I’d turned on that guy, for the first time in years lifting my hands in anger toward someone else. Shit, this was bad. I had to get a handle on this. I would not be like my father. I would not use my fists to get my point across. I could control myself.

  The streets were still full of people, there were hours yet before I was supposed to meet Tina, and I wasn’t expected back on set until tomorrow.

  My feet took me across town, to the edge where the tourists never came, where poverty showed its face at any time of the day, on every person you saw.

  I walked, but my mind ran. Backward, to that last day, the day of the steel cable. We’d escaped our father, but that wasn’t what clung to the inside of my brain.

  Instead, I saw Jasper, Sharon clinging to him as if he were her child and not the step-son he truly was. She’d cried, begged for me to leave Jasper with her. Promised me that our father would never touch him. Jasper had been shaking; his wide pale green eyes so like our mother’s begged me to take him as Sharon begged for me to leave him behind. Lies and deception—the sight of her fingers digging into his shoulders, holding him to her as blood ran from my back, the skin chewed up, open and raw.

  The memories were too much, the anger they dredged up I couldn’t hold in anymore.

  “Fucking god damn bitch!” I roared into the open air, feeling the words burn my throat. I laced my fingers around the back of my head, touching the scars at the base of my neck. They at least could be seen, could be understood, not so for Jasper.

  All your fault. This is all your fault.

  “Piece of shit, woman!”

  The soft crunch of sand under flip-flops brought my head around. Jasmin was ten feet away, her eyes shimmering with moisture. “I’m so sorry, Jet. I’ll call my boss; I’ll have him send someone else. Really, I . . .”

  What was she talking about?

  She turned and was running the other direction before I made the connection.

  Ah, shit.

  Sprinting after her, I thought I’d catch her in no time, but she kicked off her flip-flops and ran bare foot like the locals down the hard-packed dirt street, yellow dress a bright spot in the middle of the mud red adobe homes, downcast faces and swirling dust devils.

  She’d be headed for her hotel, and without another thought I changed directions, bolting between homes. I dodged around people, laundry, and old car parts in order to get ahead of her. Or catch her.

  My heart raced, not only from the full out sprint, but at the thought of Jasmin leaving. She couldn’t leave—I wasn’t ready for that. Nor did I want to analyze my attachment to her; I pushed it away as I ran.

  The poverty around me shifted the further I ran, and between one step and the next, I was on pavement, the streets shifting into high gear, hotels and restaurants. Jasmin’s hotel was once again across the street. Ignoring the oncoming traffic, I bolted across, the side mirror of a large truck going past my face at a speed and proximity that threw my adrenaline into overdrive. I rolled on the back of my heel to avoid the next car coming in the opposite direction, waved as drivers laid on their horns, and was finally back on the relative safety of the sidewalk.

  One old lady, hunched with age, her face covered in sun-damaged wrinkles, took a swing at me with her heavy purse, which looked as old as she was. I avoided it easily, and then lifted an eyebrow at her. What was she taking a swing at me for?

  “Estupido,” she muttered. At least it was an easy translation. Got it.

  Breathing hard, I looked up and down the street. No Jasmin. Had she beaten me here? Pushing my way through the spinning doors, I approached the front desk, getting a glimpse of myself in the mirror behind it. My sandy blond hair was wild, sweat slid down my face and arms, cutting through the dust, and my eyes were not looking like that of a man in control of himself. I took a big breath, held it, and then slowly let it out.

  The guy at the front smiled at me, though it looked pasted on as he gave me a quick once over. His English was flawless, if lightly accented. “Hello, sir. Welcome to our humble hotel. How can I help you this evening?”

  “Jasmin Vargas, she’s staying here. I need her room number.”

  He checked his book, clicking his tongue. “I’m sorry, sir. We do not give out room numbers to people who are not registered with us—”

  “How much?” I asked, knowing the routine by heart.

  The clerk spread his hands and smiled. “You tell me.”

  From my back pocket, I pulled a hundred dollar bill out and slapped it on the counter in front of me. Seconds later, I was running up the stairs, the room number on the tip of my tongue. The top of the damn hotel, she had to be at the top.

  Seven flights up, I sucked air, the combination of heat, adrenaline and borderline panic kicking my ass. Again, I chose not to analyze the panic, why it was so important she not leave, that I didn’t hurt her.

  Jogging past the line of doors, I stopped at the room number the clerk had given me. “You’d better be right you bastard,” I muttered to myself, lifting my hand to knock. The sounds of crying stopped my hand—deep sobs that tore at my heart. Fuck, I’d done that to her. I took a step back, a shiver of fear slicing across my spine. The last time I’d held a crying woman, things hadn’t turned out so well. For either of us.

  My mother had sobbed like that when my dad had found us. She’d sobbed and clung to me, and I’d cried, not knowing at five years old what else to do. Fuck this. I turned to leave, then a particularly gut wrenching sob caught my ear.

  Fear nothing. Not even a crying woman, you pussy.

  Licking my lips, I stepped back up to the door, lifted my hand again. Before I could change my mind, I gave three sharp raps. The crying stuttered to a stop, a moment passed and the door opened a sliver.

  Green, tear-stained eyes stared up at me. She opened her mouth and I stopped her.

  “Just let me explain. Please. That wasn’t about you,” I said. God, I did not want to tell her anything, but I couldn’t let her believe for one second I thought so poorly of her.


  With one hand, I pushed the door open, closing it behind me. She stepped back, allowing me to come in.

  “I’ve already called my boss. He’s going to let me finish the article. I think I’ve got enough pictures—”

  “I wasn’t yelling about you.” I couldn’t even meet her eyes now. “I was thinking about the questions you were asking and it took me back to a very bad time. I . . .”

  Now or never man.

  “I . . . was thinking about my stepmother.”

  Now I did chance a look up.

  Jasmin’s brows were drawn over her eyes, two dark slashes that only accentuated the green below. She took a breath, paused, thought for a moment and then spoke.

  “I’m sorry I brought up bad memories. I won’t bother you anymore with questions or pictures.”

  Shit, that wasn’t what I wanted. “No!” I tried to take her hand, but she stepped back, away from me. “Jasmin, I want you to ask me.” Fuck, I’d lost my mind. “It’s just hard. That’s all.”

  Her lips parted and her tongue darted out as she pulled at her bottom lip with her teeth. “Jet, I think that this would be better anyway. I’m sure the pictures I have are enough, and I know enough about you to put together a good article.” She took another step back, grabbed some clothes and threw them into an open suitcase on the bed.

  This was not how I wanted things to go.

  “Shit, I don’t want you to go.” The words were a confession I hadn’t planned on making.

  Her eyes narrowed. “You aren’t getting into my panties, no matter how much you flirt, no matter how long I’m here. Again, I’m sorry, I’ll go and you can go back to your life as it was.”

  “I know I’m not getting into your panties, all right? I know that.” And I did. She wasn’t the kind of girl to buckle to some pressure. I could see that strength in her.