CHAPTER TWO

STEELE

“No.” I walk through the cracked cement halls of the abandoned apartment building in Near North Side, Chicago. “I’ll run through here and jump out that window. There’ll be a rope hanging down from a scaffold waiting for me.” I stick my head through the huge open window. Kip comes up beside me.

“I’ll swing out and come back in through that window.” I point.

“Trying to pull another TJ Banks?” Kip says, glancing down six stories to the vacant street below with a whistle.

“No.” I laugh. “You act like us stunt guys are superheroes or something.”

“Aren’t you, though?” He pulls back from the window.

I chuckle, the sound of it resembling a “fuck you.” My eyes scan the room as it crowds with people setting up cameras and tending to lights. The pretty raven-haired woman standing against the door watching me doesn’t go unnoticed. They never do. My radar’s always on. California, Chicago, New York—while working on any site, I got no problem finding a woman to warm my bed. It’s the occupation. Most think Kip, the lead actor, would get all the action, but there’s another breed of women out there. One who’s not interested in fame but rather craves a bit of danger and excitement. And that’s something this guy can offer.

“Why’d they want the shoot done here in Chicago? We could’ve pulled this shit off in LA?” I turn to Kip, keeping my eyes on the woman, a smile slipping across my mouth as she heads our way.

“I don’t know.” Kip shrugs. “Hey”—he points at me—“don’t forget we have that meeting in a few with the insurance guy, and no shit this time, Steele. We do what we need to get this done. I want to be back in LA by the end of the week. And dude, put a shirt on.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I say, nodding as he walks away.

“It’s the iconic skyline, beautiful brownstones, suburban mansions, and gritty urban backdrops. That’s why Chicago,” the woman says. Her large, cupid looking blue eyes openly inspect my naked chest.

“Yeah.” My eyes take their own thorough inspection, rolling down her tight white button-down blouse that shows just enough cleavage to tease the mind. “But we could’ve done the same stunt at any random abandoned apartment building in LA.”

“You could have.” She walks over to the window and leans against it. The strong breeze barely disturbs her dark, perfectly coiled hair. “But you wouldn’t get this gorgeous background.” She casts a hand out.

I stand next to her, turning my attention back to the river, bridge, and tall buildings. “No, I guess not.” I take a deep breath of the Chicago air mixed with whatever expensive designer perfume the pretty lady put on under that tight white shirt. In her attire and those heels, she’s most likely not working the cameras or lights. Could be a producer or director, but that’s not gonna stop me from hitting on her either. “You from here, Chicago?”

“Yes, I am,” she responds, eyes fixed on the calm river ahead.

“I’m from LA.”

“Yes.” A small smile tugs on the corner of her lush red lips. “I know where you’re from, Mr. Kane.”

“Well, maybe later tonight you can show me around your city, Miss…?”

She laughs. It’s short, throaty, and sexy. “You have a better chance of jumping out of this window and catching that rope than you’ll ever have of going out on a date with me, Mr. Kane.”

“You underestimate my abilities.”

“No. I’m just confident in mine.”

“About your ability not to go out with me?”

“Exactly.” She smiles at the river, denying me another look into those bright blue eyes.

“Oh, come on.” I tilt my head, scanning the unattainable perfection before me and daring her to look at me.

“I’m sorry, and I apologize for my forthcoming honesty.” Her coveted eyes encased by long, thick lashes finally turn my way. “I wouldn’t waste my time on you. In my experience, guys like you are lucky to live past thirty.”

“Guys like me?” I chuckle, examining her more thoroughly. She’s not like most women I meet on set. She’s a definite challenge—jumping out of an airplane without a parachute or a 220-foot free fall from a window kind of challenge. She’s that perfect stunt you’re always chasing but rarely execute due to all the red tape. “I can assure you, I’m a cautious man.”

“I’m sure you are,” she says with a small, condescending grin.

Hmm, I think I need to come at this from a different angle. “What if I live past thirty? Would you reconsider wasting a few hours of your life to go out with me then?”

She takes a step back and tilts her head. Eyes like two softly moving hands brush over my body. “I might think about it.”

“Well, you better start thinking.” I lean forward, catching a whiff of something sweetly familiar. “I turned thirty last April.”

She smiles, her view moving from my mouth to my eyes. “Impressive.”

“Oh, you have no idea.” Jelly beans, that’s it. She smells like jelly beans.

“See, it’s that cocky attitude that winds up getting people in your occupation into trouble, Mr. Kane.”

“I like to refer to it as confidence, miss.” I stand tall and note the half of foot between us.

“I think you’ve confused confidence for reckless arrogance. You go on, though; you keep convincing yourself that you’re invincible, and perhaps, someday, you will be.” Leaving me in her dust, she starts for the door.

“So, no date then?” I gotta give it one more try.

She stops, turns, and lifts a delicate hand, slowly twisting it back and forth. The rock on her finger sparkles against the camera lights. Huh. I drop back against the window, crossing my arms over my chest. I didn’t expect that! She didn’t come off as being married. My damn detector must be off or, worse, broken. It happened to me once before when I was at a nightclub in New York. It cost me a punch in the face from what felt like the fist of Bruce Banner’s alter ego.

Clenching my teeth beneath a broad smile, I nod and acknowledge my defeat. Her fingers wiggle a snide goodbye before she exits the room.

Chris glances up from the camera light he’s working on and chuckles. Apparently, he witnessed the rejection. I shrug with a grin. The second I discovered she belonged to another, everything shut down. Married women do absolutely nothing for me. Hell, if I’d known the gal in New York City was married, it would’ve saved me from getting hit by the Hulk. Some chicks aren’t forthcoming about their marital status, or they get off on seeing their husband jealous. Either way, I want no part of it.

After recovering my shirt from the room Kip and I were working in, I jog down the stairs and head for the temporary office in the back of the building to meet with the insurance guy. A lot of my stunts are excluded from the film’s cast and liability insurance policy. They need to be covered in a separate stunt buyout policy, which are when policies are underwritten individually, stunt by stunt, and the insurance company monitors the scripts and storyboards. The company usually sends someone who’s called a “loss-control expert” to the set to keep an eye on things. We already met with one insurance company, and they refused to cover my stunts. I know Jerry wants me to be on my best behavior today. If they really want to, the loss-control expert could jack up the price of the film with the policy costs.

I enter the room and nod to Kip and Jerry, who are leaning over a table in the center of the room that has papers and storyboards scattered all over the surface.

“Good, you’re here.” Jerry stands, pushing his glasses back up his nose. “Steele, this is Jay Rigsby.” He stretches out an arm, pointing to the left with the pencil in his hand. I follow the direction, and my muscles tighten as I attempt to conceal my shock. “She’s the loss-control expert from Harper Insurance.”

Well, this is going to be interesting. I smile at the married woman who just shut my cock down. Hopefully, she doesn’t do the same to my stunts. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Rigsby.” I dip my head with a cordial smile.

“Mr. Kane,” she says, and I feel her hand on my balls, squeezing them already. She’s not going to make this easy. It’s right there in her eyes. My reputation has reached her ears, and my earlier reckless arrogance probably didn’t help. Yeah, this cupid-eyed cutie is gonna give me hell. She’s going to challenge every one of my stunts, and after an hour into the meeting, she proves me right ten times over.

“I got no problem with an airbag, but I’m not wearing a damn harness. The character wakes up in bed. He has no shirt on. This is what I do, why I’m Kip’s stunt double, Mrs. Rigsby,” I say between clenched teeth, pressing over the swollen vein in my throbbing temple with the tip of my finger for the fifteenth time.

She smirks and crosses her arms over her annoyingly perfect tits, holding that look of confidence on her beautiful face. Fuck, like all the other stunts, she knows she’s going to win this battle too.

“Just look at it this way, Mr. Kane. Your makeup artist gets out of having to cover all your tattoos.” She scathes, taking another, quick once-over of my upper body as if it’s a deadly weapon and not a tool. I work hard to keep in shape for my job, and I know most guys might not want to be viewed as a tool, but my body is a fucking tool, and it should be viewed as one! A strong, courageous, and flexible tool!

“Oh-ho.” I lay my palms on the table and lean into her. “No need to worry about that, Mrs. Rigsby. Nadine doesn’t mind covering up any of my tattoos.”

“I’m sure it’s the highlight of her day.” She smirks. Her patronizing tone claws up my back. I round the table, stopping close enough for a victorious chest bump. Our bodies don’t touch, though. There’s no need. The triumphant gleam in her eyes is bump enough. Like every other, she’s won this battle, and the little she-devil knows it! Fuck. I want to … to … bend her over my knee and beat her ass. Teach her a lesson.

My cock jolts. What the fuck!

Her chin lifts. “Go ahead. Keep it up. I dare you to take me on, Mr. Kane.”

I glare down at the raven-haired beauty who just walked into my life, wrapped her long slender fingers around my balls, and squeezed. She’s got me, balls and all. Her eyes flash to my mouth. I press closer and whisper just over her lips, “Challenge accepted.”