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.”

“That won’t be necessary. Just email Cash’s credentials along with Mr. Becker’s.” I pull the heavy bag back up onto my shoulder.

“I can’t.”

“Why?” I glance up. “Doesn’t he have credentials?”

“He does, but as I mentioned before, I miss you, Jaylyn Rigsby, and I’ve been thinking a lot about you up in here.” He taps the side of his head, drawing my eyes to his. “And I’m almost there.” He winks, and shit, what that little flick of his eye does to my body … just shameful. “However”—he wags a finger at me—“this hatred for my beautiful state has thrown me off. I find I’m taking it personally. Now, you can either agree to go with me tomorrow, or I can drag this out for a week or two. However long it might take for me to get those credentials to you. So however long you want to be in California is your choice.”

He’s not going to let this go. He’s comfortable. We’re on his turf now. Shit! You need to know when to pick your battles. “Fine. Pick me up at the Charlton Hotel at noon tomorrow.”

“I’ll be there.” His brows flick. “And, if I may suggest, leave your hair down tomorrow. I’m sure you think this bun thing you got goin’ on here is professional”—he points at my updo—“but I can assure you that it isn’t around me. With your neck exposed like that, all I can think about is what your skin might taste like.” He bends forward, close to my unprotected left ear. “Please, do as I say.” His voice lowers with a hint of impotent desperation. “Don’t tempt me, Miss Rigsby. As I’ve informed you previously, once I’ve worked you out in my head, I have every intention of taking you on.” His warm breath sways over my naked, exposed neck, leaving goose bumps it its wake. “Oh, and jeans.” He rises, recovering with that damn smug grin. “I’d recommend them as well. The skirts make for easy access, not to mention, you might get a little dirty at the race track.”

Ohh! The cocky, arrogant, crude ass! “Did you ever hear of sexual harassment?”

“Why, yes, of course,” he says with astute understanding. “Look up the definition and if you can admit my advances are unwanted, then I’ll call your Human Resource Department and file the complaint myself.” He tosses his empty water bottle across the room, making it into the recycle bin with firm confidence. “I don’t make it a habit to chase after women who do not want me, Miss Rigsby. If I am mistaken and you feel threatened by me in any way, then I do apologize, and it won’t happen again.” He steps closer to me. I shake from the inside out; a hot, flushing shake that warms me between my thighs all the way up to the tips of my tweaking nipples. “Do you feel threatened, Jaylyn?”

I gaze up into his steady, patient eyes and admit, “No.” At least, my body doesn’t feel threatened, but something else, something I’ve protected for the past three years, certainly feels defenseless.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” he says before leaving me standing in my vague uncertainty.

I came here ready for battle. Instead, my shield is lying on the ground, and Steele Kane, as though it was as easy as breathing, forced me to confess that I want him. Although, I did sort of start it by mentioning the sexual harassment bit, and he was, after all, required to defend himself. It’s a serious accusation. I had no right going there, but I couldn’t help myself. Piece by piece, my shield was stripped from me. So I tossed in the knife, and I’m sorry for it now. Still, he didn’t appear nicked by the jab. He simply responded by asking the one question I couldn’t answer with a lie, the situation being too serious and all.

Imbecile! I shake my head.

I need to get to the hotel and have, as the doctor ordered for times such as these, a glass of wine. I make my way back to my rental car, lugging my suitcase behind me.

I have no love for California, and I barely miss my hometown, but I like it in Chicago. People don’t want anything from me there. They’re not expecting me to outdrink every guy at a party, put a voodoo hex on their ex, or make up a dance routine to their favorite song like Lucy always did. Nor are they expecting me to graduate high school with honors while working at Del’s Diner and tutoring two nights a week. Not to mention, almost failing out of college, going broke from all the tatts I put on my body, and falling for the “wrong” guy.

My poor parents, I put them through the wringer. Don’t get me wrong, they’ve always supported my decisions, but they did it by not really supporting me at all. I’d fall, then they’d lean over me, hands on their hips with all their unconditional love bullshit, and wait for me to get my ass back up. I’m not saying it isn’t right. I get it. You need to let your kids fall occasionally. I just think I might have gotten a lot less bruises if my parents had reached out to help me every once in a while. They could’ve, at least, helped to break a couple of falls. Not that anything could have stopped my last one. Part of me is still on the ground, and now, because of Steele Kane, I’m right back where I left some of my broken parts.

I miss Trevor. I miss the way he touched my hand, cupping it with his large, safe one. No matter where we were or what we were doing, I never felt alone. I miss the way he sang really loud in the car. He had such a horrible voice. Oh, and then there was our lick wars. Nothing sexual, just an innocent game we used to play. It usually started on the cheek, and at last tally, I was in the lead. He was my best friend, and for the past three years …

God, Trev. I miss you like crazy.