“No, that’s normal,” Ed was saying. “There will be some superficial cracks from the stress. I’m surprised we didn’t see them earlier. They don’t interfere with the cave’s integrity or the stunt’s safety.”
At this point, Troy didn’t give a fuck. He’d been dead inside from the moment he’d seen that holy-shit-what-have-I-done look on Giselle’s face when she’d realized who he was and what she’d done with him—as if fucking him had been the worst possible thing that could have happened in her life.
He checked the straps on his harness, wondering if he should just unfasten them and end it all here and now. The only reason he didn’t was because he knew Keaton and Duke would blame themselves.
“Come on, guys.” Troy paced and stretched and jumped on his toes to keep his muscles warm. “Let’s get going.”
“We’re all set,” came from the lead cameraman.
“Hold on a sec, Hank.” Jeff’s voice dragged Troy’s gaze toward the cave entrance again, where the director’s silhouette cut out the Vegas sunlight at his back. And he wasn’t alone.
As the posse stepped into the set lighting, Troy’s gaze locked on Giselle, where she stood at the center of the group. His heart dropped to his stomach the same way Troy had been dropping to the bottom of that ca
vern all morning.
Her hair was in a ponytail, and she pulled mirrored aviator sunglasses from her eyes, tucking one arm of the glasses into the white tank beneath a breezy white blouse. Faded blue jean cutoffs showed off her shapely, tan legs. Her sweet little feet were slipped into cute sandals, her toes painted pink.
Goddamn she looked like the Ellie he used to know. The Ellie he’d fallen head over heels for the day she walked into their foster home, with a chip on her shoulder and a duffle filled with attitude, and even now, after everything that had happened, his gut twisted like warm taffy at the sight of her.
But he reminded himself she’d proven to him, both at the club and at the mixer, that she wasn’t that girl anymore. She might still have the chip and the attitude, both now polished and carefully camouflaged, but the sweet, giving, nurturing soul that had been hidden beneath… He hadn’t seen any sign of those.
He’d figured she would get a tour of the set at some point, but had hoped he wouldn’t be here when that happened. He put on his dented armor and planted his hands at his hips, too aware of his sweaty, dirty, disgusting state.
He tensed his gut against the pain he sensed coming and asked Jeff, “What’s up?”
“You already know Giselle, of course,” Jeff said, then moved on to the man beside her, leaving him to wonder what she’d told Jeff. “This is Chad Moore, her manager. These two burly guys are her security detail courtesy of the Mirage. This pretty little thing”—he laid a hand on the shoulder of the woman Troy had seen with Keaton at the mixer—“is her personal assistant.”
Giselle’s gaze held on his chest, her expression just this side of sheepish.
“Brought the whole entourage, huh?” His question or his brusque tone got her to lift her eyes to his, and even in the dim lighting, he could see a storm brewing there. Just for the hell of it, he added a little lightning strike. “You’re just in time to watch me throw myself down a cavern. I’m sure that will make your day.”
He turned and set up at the takeoff point. “Let’s do this.”
“Everyone quiet,” John called.
Troy shook out his arms, his hands, cracked his neck, shifted from foot to foot. He couldn’t stand still. Needed to work out some of this anxiety. It helped him home in on the present. Helped him focus. Something he needed now more than ever.
The slate kid jogged into Troy’s path, called out the scene and the take and snapped the slate. The sound ricocheted off the rock and echoed in Troy’s head.
“Ready…” John called.
Troy lowered his gaze to the stone floor, secured his footing, and crouched like a runner at the starting line.
“And…action.”
Troy pushed his body into a sprint. Strong. Solid. Measured. He felt good. In control. On target. He hit his launch point and lunged with all the strength in his legs. As soon as his feet left the ground, hyperfocus kicked in and time slowed. In split-second increments, he went through the necessary steps to execute the fall. His gaze surveyed the cavern’s opening, he spread his arms wide to slow his flight, and gravity sucked him straight into the middle of the shaft.
Down, down, down… Air rushed past him, blowing his hair, cooling his skin, whizzing past his ears. His blood sang with the adrenaline. He loved free fall. No ties, no restriction, no past, no future, just now. Just that very moment. A moment when adrenaline and thrill and triumph mixed, producing a few blessed seconds of utter euphoria.
The same euphoria he felt when he was tangled up, body and soul, with Giselle.
Only Giselle.
The decelerator kicked in. The initial pull on his body always knocked the wind from him in a grunt. He came to a stop midair with only one thing filling his mind.
I want her the fuck out of my head.
“And, cut.” John’s voice echoed through the cave.